


The Butterfly Effect

by Xenovia



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Reality, Butterfly Effect, Gen, different timeline, some weird couples but its weird in universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenovia/pseuds/Xenovia
Summary: Hershel Layton wakes up in a place he hasn't visited in nearly two decades with no idea how he got there. He seems to have memories of a life that nobody around him recognises, and everyone seems confused when he refers to himself as the Professor.





	1. Unfamiliar Familiarities

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow look who started another fic
> 
> okay, this story likely won't get updated frequently until I finish my Hunger Games au fic (because im finishing that goddamn story) but this idea has literally been with me for years and I needed to at least start it. The concept's a little bit weird but stick with me.

_We should head back… It's too dangerous."_

_"You're gonna stop now? When we're this close!"_

_"We can come back when we're more prepared, I just think one of us is going to get hurt if we go further. Come on."_

* * *

 

Birds Twittered outside the window and sun streamed in through the slit in the curtain as Hershel's eyes hazily opened, it was a peaceful and calm way to wake up, with no alarm clock or grumpy children in sight. This was the first sign that something was wrong.

Hershel was confused by the near silence, he looked round the room as he sat up. Quaint furniture, a desk in the corner, tons of books stacked against the wall. It seemed like a nice room.

But this wasn't his room.

He squinted and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, giving himself a second to readjust just in case he was still dreaming. But when he opened his eyes again, he was still in the same place.

Hershel stood up, on edge and considering which item was best to use as a makeshift sword. His fear that foe he'd left in his past would jump out and greet him was overwhelming, but minutes passed and there wasn't mask nor moustache to be seen.

_Okay Hershel. You're alone in an unfamiliar place, this is fine._

In an attempt to rule out some possibilities, he made a quick check for any injuries he might have taken that would affect his memory. While looking down he realised that he was wearing his own night clothes. So at the very least it seemed as if he had intended to sleep there. He thought back, desperately trying to remember the last thing he was doing before waking.

His most recent memory was from the night before. He'd finished filing cases about a robbery on the Thames, made a pot of tea and had just said goodnight to Flora and Alfendi, then headed to bed. In his own house. His instincts told him to panic about the children's whereabouts first, but he knew that getting worried would limit his ability to solve the problem. They were both smart, they could take care of themselves. And if he was missing, they'd let someone know.

He looked round the room again, searching for any clues as to where he was. Books on the shelf were about History, with a large encyclopaedia and a handful of murder mystery novels. He walked over to inspect closer. The desk had pieces of academic writing. One was an essay about the Battle of Hastings, it didn't seem to be named. He turned round and pulled the curtains open, he was met with the view of a lush green garden.

Definitely not in London, that was for certain.

Following where the light from the window was shining, he noticed some photographs on the wall and hurried over to them, pleased to see he recognised the images. One of his parents Lucille and Roland on a picnic, one of Hershel and his school friends having a sleepover. He felt a rush of relief, at least this home seemed to belong to someone familiar. He scratched the possibility of this being a danger, it was unlikely that someone with ill will against him would be able to find those pictures.

 _Maybe I'm just forgetting something_ he thought to himself  _Let's piece this together. Someone you know, out in the country, who you trust enough to sleep here._

Annoyingly, there were a few possibilities but he didn't recognise the house as any of theirs.

He did one more take of the room but could gather no more information from the house's obvious furnishings, though he admired the decorative choices of the owner. He noticed a set of drawers and hesitantly opened the top one, reprimanding himself for snooping in someone else's belonging but justifying that he needed more evidence. There were no clear indications of the owner's identity within, but there was a neatly folded pile of shirts. And in the other drawer, similarly folded trousers.

He closed both drawers and continued through the house gently, looking out for anyone else that lived there The hallway seemed empty, and similarly designed as the bedroom. He passed a mirror and jumped back.

His reflection was alarming, if simply because the hair on his head was nothing like his usual style. A thick, curly afro stuck up in all directions. He studied his face carefully, happy to see he was definitely still his own age.

An odd first thought to have, but when you've seen people travel to the future you start to become wary of these things. No solution is too outlandish.

Yet there was no explanation as to why the hairstyle he hadn't donned in over two decades was back. He tried to tie it back but had no use, he was starting to remember why he'd got rid of it. He wasn't happy but it wasn't his main priority, there were more important things to focus on. Though saying that, Hershel's next thought was wondering where his Top hat was.

Trying to ignore the strangeness of the hair, and becoming increasingly concerned with the current situation, Hershel walked to the kitchen and threw the curtains open, hoping to get a better view of the area. He felt a wash of memories as he saw where he was.

He could see a small street, and other little houses facing his. A small stream ran down the side of the pavement. The house was on a small hill, and in the distance Hershel could barely make out a school he was all too familiar with.

He was in Stansbury. A place he hadn't been to since his Teenage years. The place he'd abandoned when he left to study.

But stranger than that, was the many people he saw. Parents pushing prams, children playing, an elderly couple on a walk. As Hershel had known it, Stansbury had become a ghost town after he'd left. The constant Archaeological digs and prying Journalists looking for information about the incident in the ruins had turned most people away, and eventually businesses began to close. By the time he left Gressenheller the town was regarded as abandoned. But today the street was charmingly busy. Perhaps they'd made efforts in rebuilding it, though that normal occurence wouldn't explain the hair or why he washere in town.

He called out into the house in a last attempt, but there was no response, he seemed to be the only one in there. Searching the house seemed like a dead end, and he needed answers. It was time for a different approach.

He went to open the door to head out and try to get a better sense of what was happening, perhaps see if anyone he knew was in town, but caught sight of his pyjama clad arm as he began to lift it.. He walked back to the bedroom.

Pulling open the drawers, he weighed up the possibilities in his head. On one hand, it was rude to take and wear someone's clothes. On the other hand, there was a mystery here that needed to be solved and he wasn't prepared to do it in pyjamas if there was an alternative option. He pulled out a jumper and slacks that were similar enough to his usual wardrobe, thankful that they seemed to fit. He shut the drawers and tried to set the room up as it was when he awoke. Back in the hallway, the shoes by the door also fit his spectacularly well. He took note of the odd coincidence, but tried not to jump to any conclusions without finding out more.

He took the keys off the hook by the door and unlocked it, assuming that whoever owned this house probably had their own set. He disliked the idea of heading out without his hat and bag, but it wasn't as if anybody there would know anything was different. He took one step outside, feeling a sense of nostalgia and dread. He'd never planned to come back to Stansbury, but surely a day trip couldn't hurt.

 _Time to get to the bottom of this._ He thought _...Then cut my hair._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused? Don't worry, there's an explanation for all of this I promise, please let me know if you're interested in where this story's going.. (Clue's in the title, if you wanna try and guess whats happening)
> 
> (This is technically set post Lost Future, pre Mystery Journey but not quite. You'll see what I mean.)


	2. Gathering Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely words about this story! I'm glad people seem into the concept, It really means a lot xx

_Things that I know to be true:_  
  


_My name is Professor Hershel Layton._

_I have two children, Flora and Alfendi._

_I live in London and I teach at Gressenheller University._

He repeated these things in his head as he walked, deciding they were the key information he needed to remember. He was still unsure what was happening but knew that his memories weren’t lining up with the world around him. It was very possible he could lose more as time went on, and he was afraid of forget the things that mattered most.

Nonetheless, he tried to remain calm as he puzzled it out, walking round streets. The air in Stansbury was warm, and if Hershel weren’t so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he might have stopped for breakfast at one of the cafes along the way. He saw a small building with several tables outside and was shocked to see that it was the bakery he used to visit as a boy. He was sure it had closed just before he moved away, but here it was in it’s full glory, with a menu that had doubled in size.   
  
_Perhaps Stansbury has simply experienced a boom in tourism, it isn’t uncommon for towns._

From one of the tables outside the building, a child around school age waved and called out to him.

“Hello Mr Layton!” Taken aback slightly, Hershel waved back to them. He hadn’t been referred to as anything other than Professor in years. He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt his pride slightly. As he walked on, he heard the child’s mother tell them not to bother people on their day off.

People here that he’d never seen recognised him. Amnesia was definitely still a possibility.

He continued walking, his feet absentmindedly taking him down path he’d walked a hundred times. Before he even acknowledged where he was headed, he found himself stood in front of his childhood home. It seemed well kept and clearly lived in. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knew they didn’t live there any more, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But something had drawn him there.

“I think they’re still out of town, your father mentioned being back on Sunday.” He heard a voice from behind him and turned to see a man the same age as him, smartly dressed and carrying several bags. He seemed very tired, and not in the mood to stop for conversation. “I’ll let you know if I see them about.”

“Henry?” he asked, and saw the other man raise an eyebrow, Hershel quickly assumed that Henry being in Stansbury had a normal explanation that he didn’t remember, his shock would seem awfully suspicious.  He tried to continue the question “Where are you headed?”

“Just back to the Manor” He answered coldly “Mrs Ascot needed me to pick up some groceries.” He lifted the bag higher onto his shoulder.  “As well as a newspaper, she’s desperate to read the story.”

Something clicked in Hershel’s mind, a newspaper would be a vital source of information. He attempted to hide his confusion at Henry’s words.

“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, is it in the most recent one?” He stumbled his way through the sentence, trying to make it believable.

“Yes, published this morning. I’m on my way to pick one up now.”

“I’ll accompany you then.” Henry’s strained smile seemed to portray that he wasn’t thrilled with this idea, and he declined when Hershel offered to take one of the bags.

Hershel had always been confused by his relationship with Henry but was certain they’d been able to mend it over the past few years. The two were never going to be like brothers, but at the very least Henry had helped him on a case a couple of months back, and they’d enjoyed their down time in London. But now, Henry seemed to have a harsh animosity towards him that he couldn’t work out the reason for. He didn’t even want to open the mystery of why he was working for the Ascots again.

 The two of them came across a little stand at the edge of the road, and Hershel spotted a rack of Newspapers on the side. He hurried towards it, leaving Henry behind. It was ungentlemanly, but he had offered to help. He tried to look collected as he read the date on the top of the most recent one.

It was the next day.

He’d been in London March 15th. The paper read March 16th, same year.

“Hello Hershel!” The man behind the counter called out to him “Your friend’s been in the papers again, did you see?”

“My friend?” he ran through all the possible people in his head, he didn’t know who he was referring to. Though if this was someone recognisable in Stansbury…

“Page 6.” He picked up the copy and flipped through to the page to show Hershel, and sure enough there was a photo of a man with big glasses and slicked back red hair- Randall Ascot. He was photographed in front classroom that Hershel recognised, he’d taught there before. “He solved another big mystery or something.”

“Remarkable-” Last he’d heard, Randall was on vacation in Spain. It seemed unlikely he’d travel all the way back to solve a case- Especially when he wasn’t known for it.

“I’m here to pick up a copy as well.” Said Henry who’d finally caught up. He took his wallet out and paid the money, taking his copy and leaving.

“Good to see you Henry” he called after him. Henry didn’t respond.

Hershel turned back to the stand and tried to read the story, but the man closed the paper, clearly expecting payment of some kind. Hershel felt round in his pockets but hadn’t picked any up. He held his hand up apologetically and the man laughed. “I’ll have to come back later.”

He began making his way back to the house and went over the new information in his head.

He needed to get back to his normal home to try and figure out what was going on, and so far, he had no proper explanation- Time hadn’t changed, and people weren’t where they were supposed to be. Henry and his parents were in Stansbury, Randall was at Gressenheller. It felt as if he’d missed 5 years in the span of a night.

But that article gave him an idea. An easy way to find information.

He hurried back home and went to the desk, going through each of the drawers. He’d always kept important letters, and it seemed there was no exception here. He leafed through them, searching for a London address.

He finally found one that had a return address that he recognised as being very close to his home. He opened it up to find a short letter that seemed to be from a few months ago.

 

_Hello, Hershel_  
  


_I hear you’re settling in well at Kingsbrooke, I always said you’d make a great teacher, hope the children aren’t giving you too much trouble!_

_We’re all moved in now and it’s such a relief, it’ll be so much easier to live nearby rather than us both having to commute every day, you know what it’s like on the Underground. (Though, I won’t be working for a few more months at least.)_

_It would be wonderful to have you come and visit one day. You’d love this corner of London, there’s so many museums!_

_If you’re ever in town, our door is always open!_

_Best Regards,_

_Angela Ascot_

 

He reread it a couple of times, several things catching his eye that he tried to rationalise. First, the implication that he worked with Kingsbrooke, the local school. Perhaps there had been Archaeological work undertaken in town that he’d been involved with?

Then there was the fact of who had written the letter. He’d expected it to be from Chelmey, or perhaps Rosa. But apparently the newspaper article was not a one time event. They- he assumed this referred to Angela and Randall- were working in London. Surely he would have known if they’d moved across the country, they kept in touch quite frequently.

And the end of the letter caught him by surprise. He’d never known Angela to use that surname, she tended to use her maiden name in conversation and ‘Ledore’ for legal purposes- considering the baggage that came with Randall’s past in Monte D’or. He didn’t think they’d ever officially gotten married. Come to think of, he didn’t know if she and Henry had ever technically gotten divorced.

Regardless of what had gone on between them, he knew one thing for sure. If Randall was solving mysteries in London, he might have answers about what was going on.

It seemed like a far-fetched plan, but London was only a few hours away. He hadn’t seen his trusty Laytonmobile parked outside, but he was certain the same bus route he used to use would still be running. And he’d never figure out what was going on if he just stayed in Stansbury. The one thing he wanted to do was speak with his parents, but he didn’t have time to waste waiting till Sunday.

He found a small suitcase and packed a weekends worth of clothes into it, as well as the letter so he’d have the address ready. He noticed a big jacket on the back of the door and pulled it on, then grabbed a black cap from a hook on the wall, wrestling it over his hair. It wasn’t the same as his usual attire, but it was a good substitute.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he was delighted to find a leather wallet. Inside was a good amount of money, and a driving license with his name on. At last he could finally remove the guilt he felt from being in this house, he’d had suspicions, but this had confirmed it. This was his house.

 

_More things I now know to be true:_

_I have a home in Stansbury and am somehow involved with Kingsbrooke Academy_

_My childhood best friend didn’t invite me to his wedding_

_I need to get back to London, and get to the bottom of this_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone: Miracle Mask was a bad game  
> Me, putting the Monte D'or gang into every story I write: kiss my entire ass


	3. Old Friends

Hershel headed to the bus stop as quickly as possible, he didn’t have a moment to waste in figuring this mystery out. For all he knew, there could be a time limit, or a consequence to not solving it. And even if there wasn’t, he missed his house. He made a quick detour on his way to pick up a newspaper from the stand. The man behind the counter was delighted to see that he’d kept his word about coming back.

As he continued to the bus stop he kept an eye out for other people that he knew, but hadn’t seen anyone else around. He arrived at the stop, a little rundown shelter on the edge of town, just as the bus pulled up. He could see that it wasn’t particularly busy, just a handful of passengers. There was a parent trying to control an over eager child, and an old woman with a cat on her lap. Hershel climbed aboard and paid the fare. The woman at the back was preoccupied with searching though her bag, clearly looking for something, so he figured he wouldn’t be bothered if he chose a seat closer to her. The child was loudly explaining the bus route to her father. Hershel placed his luggage under his seat and flipped to the page in the paper.

 _“Renowned Professor Randall Ascot uncovers a Relic of the Ancient Azran Civilisation_.” Read the title. That certainly caught his attention. Hershel skimmed through the opening until he found the key paragraph he was looking for.

“ _After much research, Ascot and his associates were led to the town of Torido in America, where they recovered the artefact. Information is sparse in regards to the details of the relic currently, but it is to be on display at a local exhibition after professionals have examined it further. The Professor explains his theory on there being similar items scattered around the globe, based on information gathered in the Relic’s former location.”_

The circumstances of Hershel’s sudden appearance in Stansbury were starting to become clearer, even if they didn’t make much sense to him.

He remembered Torido, a desert town he’d visited many years before. A reunion of a wolf and it’s owner had led to the discovery of the first Azran egg. To his knowledge, this was the only Azran artefact there, and it had been lost with the other eggs long ago when they’d formed the key. No discredit to Randall, but he doubted there was another relic in the town that he, Targent and Aurora had all missed. This supposed artefact had to be the egg.

Something had changed. But he couldn’t yet place his finger on exactly what it was, or how it had happened. He’d initially ruled out time travel, but it seemed as if the Azran Legacy had only just been discovered.

The Azran Legacy had never been close to being unleashed.

Perhaps that’s what this was, some kind of Azran trick. The full extent of their powers had never been revealed to him. Maybe they had the ability to change the world.

But that still wouldn’t explain everything.

There were a handful of other possibilities, but he had no reason to believe them. Only a small amount of people would have the ability to alter the world, and they were all incarcerated or gone.

Looking at the newspaper again, he had another thought. If Randall was now a professor, and he wasn’t…

He shook the idea from his head, the only person that would benefit from changing the past was Randall, and he had no way of doing such a thing. And Hershel couldn’t imagine the idea even crossing his mind when his current life was fine.

He supposed everything would be revealed when it was time. He just hoped that time was coming soon.

Hershel spent the rest of the journey reading the remainder of the paper, nothing else stood out particularly- though he did notice one article listed it’s reporter as a Mr ‘C.Dove’.

The bus eventually pulled up into the street, Hershel stood up, about to get off, when a voice behind him piped up.

“You’re not in the right place, are you Sonny boy?” he turned round to see the old woman, he hadn’t properly acknowledged her before, but on closer glance he noticed the pointed hat, and the cat whose fur was slightly too purple to ignore.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re meant to leave at the next stop, you got up too early.” Granny Riddleton winked, as if there was a lot more to her question that just his location. He looked out the window to see that she was correct, it would be a long walk from here to Angela’s home.

“Thank you ma’am. Say, do you by any chance know how I get back?” he asked, leaning into her metaphors.

“Well, I’d reckon it’s the same way you came in.” she answered, tilting her head apologetically. Though there was a bemused smile on her face, as if she knew he’d figure it out.

“I wish I knew how I’d done that.” He responded. Granny Riddleton laughed, wheezing.

“Well every puzzle has a solution.” Hershel smiled politely; he’d expected that as an answer. She ran her hand across her cats back, Keats had started to become bored on her lap and was beginning to mewl loudly. She scratched behind his ears until he began to purr contently, then untied the piece of paper round his collar.  “Speaking of, how about one for the road eh?”

She handed him the slip of paper, and he unfurled it to find a puzzle about time, how long it would take two different clocks to match up. He’d always had trouble solving those, but he placed it into his pocket.

The bus arrived at the next station and he was sure it was the right place, he could see the park he’d frequented during his days off work. He pulled the letter out from his bag and found the right street address, bidding farewell to Granny Riddleton, who was sorting through a small collection of puzzles she’d found in her purse, and he got off.

Most people would panic at the idea of navigating London, but he found the street quite easily, having lived in the area for so long. After seeing such an odd Stansbury, he was glad to see that most of the city looked relatively normal. Just being back there had made him feel much more at ease than he had for the last day, there was comfort in the bustling crowds. But he missed having a child pull at his arm so they could go watch the street performer, or an apprentice to walk alongside him trying to talk to all the pigeons that were disgruntled about the quality of seeds they’d been thrown.

He approached the house at the end of the road and knocked on the door, feeling oddly nervous. He’d had the day planned but wasn’t sure was awaited him after this point. A voice called from in the house, and Hershel straightened up his cap. The least he could do was make a good impression.

The door swung open, revealing a blonde woman who looked almost the same as he remembered, but much more casual than he’d ever seen her. Her usually tightly curled hair hung loosely round her shoulders, and she sported a pair of cut off jeans and a long blouse. The clothes didn’t hide the most obvious difference. Hershel quickly averted his gaze, thinking it ungentlemanly to stare, but there was no ignoring the fact that she was pregnant.

Angela Ledore- No, Angela _Ascot_ , looked confused as she saw his face.

“Hershel?” her confusion turned to a bright smile as soon as she confirmed who it was. She pulled him into a hug, and Hershel tried to cover his shock at how different she seemed. He’d never known her as anything but proper and sophisticated, the last time he’d seen her looking this relaxed was when they were teenagers.  “What a surprise, please come in!” She stepped back as he entered, tipping his hat towards her.

“Lovely to see you again Angela.”

“What are you doing here?” she ushered Hershel past her and shut the door “Not that I’m not happy to see you as well, I just didn’t know you were in the area.”

“Oh you know, I had some time off work so I figured a trip would be in order.” Hershel tried to be as vague as possible, if this was indeed some alternate universe, he had no idea when he’d last seen her. No need to raise suspicion yet. “London seemed like a good option. I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all. Please, make yourself at home.” He felt bad for dropping in on them like this, but at the very least Angela didn’t seem angry. “I’ll put the kettle on”

“Oh you don’t have to-“

“I insist, one sugar?” Hershel nodded, thankful that she’d offered. He hadn’t technically drunk any all day and he usually be on his 3rd cup by now. As Angela made her way to the kitchen, Hershel took the opportunity to look round the room. While the house itself was relatively average the furnishings were very smart, definitely similar to that of the Ascot and Ledore households he’d visited.

There was a collection of photographs and documents on the wall opposite so he moved closer to investigate. A wedding photo took the centre, Randall and Angela in the middle with family and friends surrounding them. He could see himself in the crowd beside Randall. It was nice to know he was invited, even if he didn’t recall being there. Stood next to him was a smiling Dalston and Henry. He was surprised that there weren’t any other photos of them and Henry. In his memory, both Randall and Angela essentially regarded him as another partner. It looked as if that was another thing that had changed, maybe a reason for why he seemed so miserable in Stansbury.

 He looked at the photos surrounding it, there was one of himself and Randall as teenagers, a photo from their prom, as well as one of Angela and her parents.

There were a few framed documents tacked onto the wall, several of them Archaeology based- They appeared to be certificates. He looked at the desk below them, finding a book entitled “The Mystery of the Towering Silence” The name beneath the title seemed to suggest Angela was the author. He flipped open it open and skim read the first few pages, finding it to be a rather well written Murder Mystery.

“That one isn’t out yet” Hershel placed the book down as Angela entered with two mugs.

“It’s very good” he admitted as he took his drink. He hadn’t known Angela to write, but clearly he was meant to. “You must have been working on it a while.” The tea was sickly sweet, but he drank it to be polite. Maybe he’d gotten too used to Rosa’s bitter brew.

“Just over a year, I started it just after the first one was released” She sat down on the sofa and Hershel followed, sitting on the opposite armchair. “I’ve got another one planned if this one is well received, but heaven knows how I’ll do it.” She said jokingly as she placed a hand on her stomach.

“How long? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“3 months, I think Randall’s getting nervous about it now” she laughs. “I don’t think he’s ready to be a dad.”

“I’m sure you’ll be  wonderful parents, you’re both much more suited to it that me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, taking another sip of tea. Heaven knows how she could drink it when it tasted that sugary.

“I struggle raising mine-” Angela stopped, the realisation of what he’d said dawned on her as it dawned on Hershel, though her reaction was much more positive.

“I didn’t know you had children, oh Hershel that’s wonderful!” he hadn’t meant to let that slip, but he’d gotten carried away. Apparently this wasn’t something he’d confided in her. But it seemed more suspicious to now drop the topic, so he continued to explain.

“Two of them, both lost their parents so they’ve been living with me for the last few years. And then my Apprentice Luke often stays with me while he’s back in England.”

“You must let me meet them all one day.” Okay- So she didn’t know Luke. He added that to the list of odd circumstances in his head.

“Of course, and I’ll definitely be visiting the newest member of your family.” They sat in a calm silence for a while as Hershel finished his cup of hot sugar water, he mentally reprimanded himself for being too specific with his life details. They spoke for a little while about topics that Hershel deemed easy to fake knowledge of, such as his parents or the recent newspaper article.

“You know, Randall’s lecture finishes soon, if you head to Gressenheller I’m sure you’d be able to surprise him after class.” Angela said, after Hershel mentioned waiting for him to get back.

“I think that would be a nice plan.” He stood up, placing his mug on the side.

“Feel free to pop round again anytime whilst you’re staying in London.” Right, he was staying in London. He’d forgotten to plan that part.

“About that. I know this is asking a bit much but…“Angela raised an eyebrow.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Not exactly, I had a reservation...” his lie trailed off as Angela smiled.

“We have a spare room if you’d like a bed for the night.” Hershel blushed and lowered his hat, embarrassed at her kindness. “Leave your bags here and I’ll sort the room while you’re out.”

“This is incredibly appreciated.”

 

* * *

 

He made his way to Gressenheller very easily, he knew this part of town like the back of his hand. The building was just as grand as ever, and students filed in and out of the doors. The atmosphere was cheerful and slightly tense, even in whatever world this was there were deadlines coming up. Hershel was at least thankful that he didn’t have to mark papers.

He went through all of the new information in his head, he didn’t want to make any claims yet but he could definitely see himself leaning more towards one theory, though it seemed the most unlikely.

He made his way through the campus but unfortunately didn’t recognise a lot of the classrooms. He found his old one, but it appeared to now belong to someone teaching geology.  He continued along the rooms, trying to sneak glances through the doors without it seeming odd.

He looked through the window of what he knew to be the History room, and spotted a table covered in ancient vases, and saw a class intently staring at the front of the classroom, where a man very enthusiastically gestured to the board behind him. When he caught sight of Hershel through the window he stopped, grinned, and held up a finger as if telling him to hold on.

Hershel leant against the wall, waiting for the class to end. He pulled out the puzzle about clocks and had another go at solving it.

“Well hello.” A voice he recognised, but would rather forget. He tucked the puzzle back into his pocket as a woman with short blonde hair stepped in front of him, too close for comfort. Rosetta Stone, a student who’d made her feelings for him very clear.  “Are you a new teacher or something? I’m sure I would’ve noticed you if I’d seen you before.” She smiled slyly, closing the distance between them. He’d have thought a world where Rosetta didn’t recognise him would be a blessing, but this wasn’t an improvement.

“Shouldn’t you be in class? The lecture is still going.” Hershel gestured to the room behind, he’d never known her to skip.

“Professor Ascot’s classes are so boring. I’m sure they’re just talking about rocks and fossils.”

“Well it is an Archaeology class.”

“Yeh but he could make it sooo much more interesting, I’m sure you’d be able to.” He took a step backwards, and was relieved to see other students beginning to pack away and file out. Rosetta continued trying to talk to him as he approached the classroom, getting caught behind other chatting students who were walking the other direction. He was thankful to see her tutor walk across the room as she appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Stone, you seem to have missed the end of the lecture. As well as the beginning, and the middle. Any explanation?” Randall Ascot smirked, arms crossed as the student beside Hershel turned bright red.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted and forgot the time.” She lied. Hershel turned his face to hide his amusement. He’d never been able to see what these kind of conversations were like, since she’d always insist on staying behind late for his classes.

“I’m sure you did. I’ll let it slide for now, but make sure you’re in on time tomorrow.” She muttered something about having to go and left promptly. Randall shook his head and raised his eyebrows as she left. “And YOU-“ he pointed at Hershel before running and pulling him into a hug. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“You don’t sound happy to see me” he laughed as he pushed him off. “Are you too famous now that you don’t have time for an old friend?”

Randall stuck his tongue out mockingly as he walked towards the door, gesturing for Hershel to follow him. He got a proper look at Randall for the first time, his change really wasn’t all too different. His…unique sense of style was still there, with a button up green vest over a purple shirt and jeans. The only difference was that he still wore his fake glasses, which to Hershel’s knowledge he’d discarded after learning the identity of the archaeologist he’d modelled himself after. He also seemed a lot less tired, everytime he’d met up with him in Monte D’Or he was exhausted. A mix of busy socialite schedules and restless nights. The man standing in front of him now seemed much more like the teenager he knew.

“You know I always have time for you, life’s just a little weird right now.” Hershel couldn’t help but grin, he was sure his life was nowhere near as weird as the morning he’d had “How long’s it been, 2 years? We have a LOT of catching up to do. Let’s head to the office and I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Oh no need, I’ve just had one with Angela.” Randall turned back to him, cocking his head.

“Not to be mean to Angela, but her tea is disgusting. I’ll make a proper one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a note on my phone where I added ideas for this story and one of my earliest ones was just "Angela Ledore but she has mum jeans"
> 
>  
> 
> (Also any romantic relationships in this are either canon couples or odd pairings played straight for plot reasons, I get that not everyone likes certain ships and so they aren't gonna be the main focus. If a non canon one is gonna be a big plot element I'll mention it beforehand)


	4. Archived Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing mysteries is hard y'all
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments on this fic! Knowing people wanna keep reading motivates me to actually do them

Hershel’s office was nearly unrecognisable. He’d had his suspicions about where they were headed  as they turned down the corridor, but he’d expected it to still look somewhat like his messy workspace.

Every shelf was lined with some kind of artefact, all labelled with names and dates. There was several cork board on the walls, each filled to the brim with post it notes detailing locations and newspaper clippings.  The threads leading between them gave it the distinct look of a conspiracy theorist. Apart from a small pile of books in the corner, the floor was clear, and there was no sign of a sofa that could be slept on after a long day. Hershel figured that Rosa must prefer Randall as a tenant.

The only thing that made it obviously an office was the desk in the corner, on top of which was a small blue item. Hershel tried not to give it to much attention, but positioned himself of the side of the room closest to it. He needed to confirm his suspicions.

As they sat in the office, Hershel quickly learned that Randall’s tea was better than Angela’s, but not by much.  
  
_Did this universe just have a different kind of tea? Was he doomed to drink bad tea until he found his way home?_

As Hershel placed his mug on the table, and took one of the cakes from the plate beside it, he zoned back into Randall’s conversation, making sure it wasn’t obvious that he hadn’t been listening for the last minute.

“- been hard to hard to keep up with it all.”

“I can imagine.” He had no idea what he was imagining.

“At the very least the students seem to like what I’m doing, even if I have to take all the time off.” He laughed, then seemed to realise Hershel hadn’t spoken in a while. “But hey, what about you with your history class, how are they doing?”

“They’re good, very quick learners.” He could see Randall still listening, clearly expecting more information. Hershel panicked. “We’re looking at doing a trip to London, part of the reason why I’m here. Planning some historic locations for them to visit.“

“Oh, are you here for a while then?”

“Just a few days, Angela said I can use the spare room.” Randall clapped his hands together, grinning.

“Brilliant, I can show you round! You’ll love London- very different to Stansbury though” the idea of pretending to be shocked by the place he used to live in didn’t sound like an easy thing to do, but Hershel supposed he could manage. “So what’s the other reason you’re here, if that’s only part of it?” Herhsel saw his opportunity.

“The article, I see you’ve found something quite impressive.” He gestured to the desk; Randall looked at it proudly.

“You’re damn right I did, glad all that research was worth it.”

 “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it, I don’t think it’s dangerous.” He added, though he seemed to keep a wide berth of the item.

Hershel walked over to the artefact and felt an odd wave of nostalgia and guilt as he saw it properly. Even if he hadn’t seen the Azran eggs for years, it was difficult to forget how they looked- he’d spent many days studying them. They were fascinating relics, but he knew the power this rock could unleash, and the trouble it would bring if certain people were aware of it.

“Have you managed to figure out what it is?” He asked, pretending to be ignorant.

“Definitely Azran- The same civilisation that built Akbadain, remember that?” Hershel nodded, how could he forget. “I’m almost certain there’s others like it, I’ve theorised-“ He stressed the word, to give indication that he wasn’t certain -“ that it might link to other similar artefacts and unlock their secrets.”

“I’m assuming you have a reason to believe there are others.” Randall unpinned a couple of notes from the wall and handed them over.

“Froenborg, a town in Austria. Got tipped off that someone was asking around about the egg a few years ago.” There was a few photographs of the town, and handwritten note, detailing the claim. It didn’t seem to be addressed to Randall and appeared to be more of a report. It was signed ‘Avocet’. Hershel didn’t recall the name, though the mentions of Azran interested people in Froenborg was a red flag.

“Intriguing.”

“I found that artefact there in a whole other country, I doubt someone’s research would lead them that far out. Unless..”

“They were researching a different one.”

“Exactly.” He took the photos off of Hershel and pinned them back up “There’s probably a couple out there, and I think they’re a clue or something.” He pointed at a photograph, a sketching of ancient technology “And that could be the key to finding the Azran Civilisation.”  
  
It hadn’t been found. Hershel tried to hide his expression as he learned this fact. He needed a way to check his theories.

“I think you may be on to something.”

“I know I am.” Randall said, quietly. He looked at the watch on his wrist, then began gathering up his bags “The cleaning lady’s gonna be here soon, we gotta get out before she tells me off for eating cake in here again. Can give you a lift back?”

Hershel considered it for a moment, but he needed to check something else out before he lost his train of thought. He felt as if any further questions would make his friends suspicious.

“I just need to run some errands round town first, but thank you. Tell Angela I’ll be over later today.” He put his hand on the door, but turned round as he remembered something. “Do you have a spare notebook I can borrow?” Randall fumbled around in the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a small brown one with the Gressenheller insignia, a pencil attached. He also packed a few of the cakes into a small tub (‘for the road’ he’d said) and handed them both to him.

 Hershel slipped it them into his pocket and thanked him, then headed out of Gressenheller.

* * *

 

It was only a short walk from the office, but all these short walks were hell on Hershel’s legs. He missed his Laytonmobile.

Ignoring how tired his legs were, he was relieved to find that Scotland Yard looked more or less the same, even down to the people. He could see Chelmey outside giving orders to officers, and Grosky chatting to Hanna on the steps outside. He slipped past them all, and assumed they didn’t know who he was. A sad feeling, but he had no time to dwell on it.

In the reception, he was thankful to see Barton behind the desk. The man was engrossed in a document from a teetering pile of paper next to him and didn’t seem to notice Hershel enter. When he appeared in front of him, Barton jumped back and knocked part of the pile over.

“I apologise!” Hershel offered to help pick them up but Barton waved him away.

“Oh blimey, that was my fault sir, nothing to worry about!” He began scrambling to collect the pieces together “What can I help you with?”

Hershel noticed Barton didn’t use his name. it seemed he wasn’t as frequent a visitor as he’d expected. Though he supposed he had no need to if he didn’t live in London.

“I need access to the Archives” At Barton’s hesitant reaction, he realised he needed a better reason “I’m on an investigation.” Barton still seemed hesitant. Hershel felt for the man, having an apparent stranger demand entry would be stressful.

“I probably need to talk with the inspector-“ he looked over at Chelmey, who was still discussing things with Colby, then back at the scattered papers.. “Oh but he’ll be mad that I got these all mixed up.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes, I simply need to grab a case file.” He pulled a small tub from his jacket pocket “I can offer you this as a thank you.”

Barton eyed the cakes. He was still for a second, then pulled a key off the hook next to him. It was clear the constable hadn’t lost his love for food.

“It’s just down the hall, but please be quick!” he said, handing the keys over and swapping them for the tub. Hershel made his way down to the room, keeping a confident walk. He assumed that if he acted like he was supposed to be there, no officer would question him.

He made it to the Archives uninterrupted, and was immediately overwhelmed but the sheer amount of documents and dust. He knew what cases he was looking for, but worried that they would be listed differently. Before, he was able to just ask someone- that didn’t seem like a smart decision here.

He scoured through the shelves, going over dates and locations in his head. Each one he recognised, he plucked out of their spot and laid on the table next to him. There were definitely a few missing that he was certain he’d read before, but he’d searched the entire room. Settling down with the unfinished collection, he opened the first file- Dated about 8 years earlier. It was hard for him to remember the specific details of the case, but it was easy to see the glaring differences.

 

 

**_Misthallery_ **

**_-Disturbances in area_ **

****_-Severe Damage to town_  
  


**_Culprit: Alias of Jean Descole (Identity not yet found)_ **

****

**_At Approximately 13:00, disturbances in Misthallery came to a conclusion when revealed to be the result of unregistered mining experiments by a guest to the town, this resulted in large damage to the town and the death of an endangered animal. The case was solved by Visiting professor Randall Ascot, but the culprit was not apprehended._ **

The report seemed factually the same, though there wasn’t explicit reference to the golden garden. He hoped it had still been opened, he’d have to ask Randall- Who apparently was there.

The second file was dated more recently.

 

**_Crown Petone_ **

**_-              Abduction of Audience_ **

**_-              Kidnapping, one still suspected but unconfirmed_ **

****

**_Victims:_ **

**_-Members of the Crown Petone Audience on the date of the crime._ **

**_-Unknown Teenage girl_ **

**_\- Janice Quatlane_ **

****

**_Culprit:_ **

**_Oswald Whistler_ **

**_Jean Descole (Identity not yet found)_ **

****

**_At Approximately 20:00, An opera Performance at the Crown Petone Theatre ended with known criminal Jean Descole and Musician Oswald Whistler forcing guests into a life threatening ‘Game’. Whistler was arrested on a island not far from the Theatre’s initial location. Jean Descole was last seen fleeing the scene with a teenage girl, witnesses claim she was in the audience, but her identity is unknown. At the time of this report, no person matching witness descriptions has been declared missing. It is unconfirmed whether she was an accomplice or a victim._**  


Hershel reread the report several times. The Crown Petone seemed to have gone as intended, but he couldn’t place who the girl was. Surely someone like Amelia or Janice would have been quickly reported as missing? And the lack of updates seemed to suggest she was still missing. 

He opened another case file, only a few years ago. It wasn’t as explicitly linked to his theories but it might clear up some of his own questions.  
  


_S **t Mystere**_

  * **_Assault of a man, motive unknown_**



****

**_Victim: Simon Reinhold_ **

**_Culprit: Unknown_ **

**_At Approximately 16:30, the Nephew of the Late Baron Augustus Reinhold was attacked in the family house, presumed dead initially. The motive and culprit are still unclear. The case was investigated by Professor Ascot and Engineer Paul Dante._ **

It seemed as though the mysterious nature of St Mystere had gone unreported, listing Simon as having very human injuries. Though perhaps their secret hadn’t been discovered. He didn’t want to sound boastful, but it was possible a different team of investigators may not have come to the same conclusion.

The other name mentioned in the report caught his interest, that was one he hadn’t heard since his University days. Something else he could ask Randall.

Throughout all the cases, even the ones that directly affected them, he couldn’t find any mention of him or any of his assistants. Luke, Emmy and Flora received no reference in any of the files. He worried about what this meant for their whereabouts in this odd world.

He also couldn’t find any information on the Azran Legacies, aside from the implications of the Golden Garden and Ambrosia. He couldn’t tell if they were being kept secret or if they were undiscovered.

_  
_ Though many cases had obvious inconsistency with his memories, He’d found reports about Labrellum and Folsense cases that seemed to be mainly unchanged. He assumed somebody there must have simply taken on his role in the investigation, as Randall had appeared to in other cases. He couldn’t however, see any passing mention of Monte D’Or or locate anything referring to an Underground London.

The latter should definitely have had information, it was only a year or two ago, and the legal procedures seemed to still be ongoing. The rebuilding efforts were only recently nearing completion. As he thought over why there wouldn’t be any information on it, he found his hands closing around another file. Dated much further back.

 

He knew it was unlikely, but he had to know. He grabbed it, and pulled out the contents.  It was much older, and the information was laid out differently. He couldn't find the names of the victims or the culprit, so began to read it in it's entirety. 

 

**_Institute of Polydimensional Physics_ **

**_At Approximately 17:06, an Explosion occurred after a failed Time Travel experiment. 11 people were killed: 10 civilians and 1 Scientist working on the experiment-_ **

****

He stopped after the first line. He was sure he’d started to get over it, but it seemed his was mistaken. He couldn’t bring himself to read the rest. He resisted the urge to crumple the report, instead placing it carefully back on it’s shelf. He supposed not everything could have changed.

Hershel pulled himself together, going back over the files he did have, trying to get himself back on track.

One thing he noticed was that after the Crown Petone case, there was no mention of Descole at all. All files had him listed as an ‘unknown identity’ and didn’t seem to have been updated, meaning he’d never made his true name public. He didn’t appear to have gone after any other artefacts, but Hershel didn’t believe his brother would simply give up on finding the Azran.

He appeared to have just vanished with his false identity intact. With Randall mentioning people in Froenborg, Hershel had to jump to the worst possible solution. Something had happened to him after he escaped the Detragen. He wondered if that could be the cause of the inconsistencies in the reports. It would explain the lack of information about his other crimes.

_But would that explain why I’m here?_

Hershel pulled the notebook out of his pocket and began writing down key information that was different in his cases, also adding information about Randall, Angela and Henry.

When he’d jotted down anything that was immediately different, he opened a fresh page, writing ‘MYSTERIES” in large letters at the top. He noted down each unusual circumstance and numbered them, leaving a space to fill in the solution when he came across it. Usually he’d do it in a much more professional way, using his journal and seals, but this worked well enough for now.

**Alternate World**

**Azran Eggs**

**Descole**

The case was getting more confusing as he went on, but he knew discovering just one of the these would lead him to an explanation. He was just finishing off the last line when someone appeared in the doorway.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing down here?” Hershel quickly shut the book, seeing Chelmey looking mad. The inspector leant against the doorway, seething. “This is for authorised personnel only.”

“Very sorry Inspector, I just needed-“ Chelmey smacked his hand against the wall.

“Put those files down and explain to me what in the blazes you think you’re playing at.” He did as he said, not eager to be yelled at by someone he considered a friend. He worried for how poor Barton was feeling.

“My name is Hershel Layton” he held his hand out, and Chelmey shook it unenthusiastically. “I’m working on a case and needed to gather some information.”

“If it ain’t a police matter, it’s not authorised. I can get in big trouble with the higher ups if they learn there’s civilians snooping down here.” Hershel looked down at the desk, trying to find a quick cover. He spotted a name, and knew he had to run with it.

“Sir I’m looking into leads for the identity of Jean Descole.” He saw Chelmey’s anger dimmer slightly, he inwardly sighed in relief. He was glad that was realistic. “I believe I’m close to uncovering it, I just needed to gather some vital statistics.”

“Descole?”

“I believe he’s been a large presence in a number of unsolved cases” Chelmey nodded. “I may be able to locate him.” Hershel had to maintain hope that he was still alive, he didn’t want the alternative to be true. In his timeline, they hadn’t seen eachother in years but he got an occasional postcard from an unknown address, signed with a little drawing of a mask. He liked to think they were still on friendly terms.

And if he was dead, he had no way to figure this all out.

At the very least Chelmey didn’t seem to think he was dead. The Inspector was silent for a second, seeming to cool off.

“That Descole Fellas been a pain in our neck for years, Comissioner’s always yammering that they never caught him.” Hershel watched as Chelmey looked round the room. “Alright. You leave the files where you found them, and I’ll pretend you were never down here. But if you find a _scrap_ of information on that man, I expect to see it immediately. “

“Of course, I’m trying to find him for the sake of public safety.” He technically wasn’t lying, the Azran legacy was very dangerous to the public. “I’ll be sure to keep you updated.”

“Hrmph.” Hershel placed the files back, aware of the fact that Chelmey was watching his every move. He handed the key over to him when he was finished and left the Archive. He passed Barton on the way out, who had a defeated look on his face and an empty tub of cake. Hershel felt bad for putting him in the situation, and vowed to bring him more food in the future.

It was nearing midday when he walked out, meaning he still had time to investigate, especially with his new leads. He figured the most obvious Azran related case to look into without giving away too much information about his odd alternate memories, was the closest one. If the case was mostly the same, then the rebuilt Crown Petone would only be a short bus ride from there. There would almost certainly be someone there who was part of the Game for Eternal Life. If he could just find a single lead, he’d be able to find Descole, find out what happened to the Azran Legacy, and find out what on earth l he was doing in this alternate universe.

As he turned the corner to head towards the bus stop, a teenager came running at full speed into his chest. The boy managed to keep his balance, but dropped his bag that went spiralling across the street. As the boy rubbed his head, Hershel went to pick it up. He made sure nothing had fallen out and turned back to hand it to him, he stopped dumbfounded when he caught a glimpse of him.

“Luke?” The boy looked confused, then Hershel quickly realised his mistake.  For a short moment, the outfit made him believe it was his apprentice. But this character was much too old, and the hat was slightly the wrong style. But the similarity was there, and for a good reason.

Hershel looked into the face of a boy who was nearing adulthood, dressed in a button up blue shirt and cap. A boy he’d seen flashed on every newspaper and tabloid in the country for the last two years.

At a glance he seemed very much the same, but a longer look showed just how different he was. The most distinguishing features were the faded but still very noticeable blotchy scarring that ran up the right side of his face, and one glassy eye.

As Hershel stared, Clive Dove apologised, taking his bag. Hershel didn’t have time to speak before Clive ran past him, headed further into town.

Hershel didn’t like the idea of a confirmed criminal running into London, but a part of his conscience told him that this wasn’t the Clive Dove he was used to.

For a moment, he wished that he’d read the entire file about the explosion.


	5. Crown Petone

The bus ride to the Crown Petone was relatively quick, he dreaded the day where he’d have to travel anywhere further out. Knowing the scope of his cases, he expected he would. And with the odd changes to the world, he hoped they were all still where they were meant to be. If he found himself travelling to Folsense only to discover it didn’t exist, he’d be less than pleased.

The seats around him were packed with tourists, he recalled how the theatre had gained a reputation in the years following the incident- many archaeologists who wished to study Ambrosia and often stopped at the Theatre to see shows and view the galleries.

The theatre appeared to have just finished it’s matinee performance as he arrived, as well dressed guests began to file out of the main doors. He could see actors in full makeup and casual clothing heading out to find lunch. The place was just as Grand as he remembered, though it was odd to see it in such a casual way. He searched round the building for someone who may be able to talk to him, there were a few crew members and chorus dancers he vaguely recognised, but he doubted they’d know any details. And then he spotted her.

Janice Quatlane was outside,  what he presumed was, her dressing room, talking to a group of women. She looked tired, but in a way that seemed to suggest it was from the performance. He watched her sign a programme and laugh at something one of the apparent fans sad. One dark haired woman stood beside her was holding a toddler, who grabbed at Janice’s necklace. She pulled back when she saw Janice raise a hand to it.

“Emiliana, leave the poor woman alone.” She scolded the little girl, who just laughed and waved her fist around. 

“It’s no worry” assured Janice “She’s just excited. I’m sure she’ll be a big opera fan when she’s older.”

“She already is!” remarked the woman as the little girl began to grab at her hair “Your record is the only thing that will put her to sleep!” The woman and her friends bid goodbye, and Hershel took the opportunity to make his way over to Janice.

 She smiled sweetly as he approached, waving at the leaving fans. He quickly introduced himself before she could make the assumption that he was just another fan. Though he was, that just wasn’t why he’d come there.

“Hershel Layton.” He held his arm out for a handshake. “Miss Quatlane, I’m sorry if this seems forward- but would you be able to answer some questions about the Incident here with the Game for eternal life?” Janice’s face dropped as she shook his hand, her voice was quiet.

“Ambrosia? I thought that case was solved.”

“Only partly, the main culprit still hasn’t been found.” Janice bit her lip and checked her watch.

“I’ve got some time free before I need to start getting ready for first call, but it’ll have to be quick.” She opened the door to the dressing room, pushing a pillow between the doorframe with her foot to stop it fully closing. Hershel didn’t feel offended, in this timeline it was unlikely the two had met before. There was another girl in there stitching a costume, but Hershel assured Janice that the information wasn’t classified.

They sat on chairs opposite a mirrored wall, Hershel noticed just how bad he looked. His makeshift outfit wasn’t very professional, especially beside a heavily made up performer. Lots of postcards and polaroid photos were stuck round the edges of the mirror frame, mainly showing old shows Janice had starred in.

“You were there on the night I presume?” he asked. He felt bad asking her, she had clearly put the night out of her mind. Janice didn’t look in his eyes as she recounted it.

“Yes. It was during our performance.” She spoke factually, as if she’d told this story many times before. Hershel pulled his notebook out.

“Can you give me an explanation of what happened?” Janice sighed as she started to explain.

“After the show, a masked man started giving orders on stage- he said there was going to be a game, and that we were all participants.” She went on to explain the puzzles and the transforming theatre, how they arrived on an island. It all sounded the same so far.

“Do you remember any of the other attendees that made it to that point?” She drummed her fingers against the ledge.

“I don’t remember everyone I’m afraid. But in my small group there were-” she counted on her fingers, trying to recall each one. “Two teenage girls and an old Football star.” She paused as Hershel wrote it down.  “Oh and I’d given tickets to my old University Professor, but his wife and her friend joined us since he was away.”

“Angela Ledore?”

“Ascot.” Hershel mentally reprimanded himself, but Janice didn’t seem to mind the slip of the tongue, she had no reason to suspect he knew Angela personally. He had to be more careful of things like that.

“Of course, and do you recall who the teenagers were?”

“One was a … Chess Player I believe. She was there to win the game for her Grandfather.” She didn’t answer about the other, but furrowed her brow, clearly thinking. ”Do you know about the _machine_?” she whispered the last word. 

“I believe so.” The Detragan. He wondered what ever happened to that thing.

 “Well I don’t know much about the other girl, but when we got to the final part of the game, Mr Whistler tried to use that machine on her.” Just as he’d tried to do to Amelia, it seemed Whistler had found another possible host. “The man seemed angry about that, and attacked Whistler”

“I’m assuming that the machine didn’t work.” Janice paused. Hershel wondered if she’d actually been there, or if she’d been watching from behind her eyes as Melina took control.

“No. It didn’t.” She seemed saddened by the memory, which made Hershel think it had Melina who'd taken part in the show "But it did it’s job at raising Ambrosia. I think that was the man’s actual motive.”

“Yes, it didn’t appear as if he was concerned with the game.” From the reports, it appeared that was Descole’s last exploit. Janice leant forwards, seemingly more invested in her next piece of information. 

“I don’t mean to involve myself but.. I don’t think he was alone in his plan. That girl, the unusual one, there was something about her. She sang the song of the Sun without having ever read the sheet music for it. It was almost instinctive, as if she already knew the words.”

Of course, all three songs had to be played for Ambrosia to rise. 

“What happened to her?”

“I’m not sure. She left with the man in the mask, I assume the police found her.”

“Alright.” He added everything down, he had a few theories as to who the mystery girl may have been, one seemed very likely. “You’ve been a great help Miss Quatlane, thank you for your time.” He got up to leave, preparing to bid her farewell but she raised a hand.

“Sir, if you’re working on this would you be able to help me with something else?” she asked hesitantly “I know it’s not a formal request, but the police stopped investigating because they had no leads..”

“Certainly, it’s the duty of a Gentleman to help someone in need.” Janice looked round to make sure the other woman wasn’t eavesdropping.

“My girlfriend disappeared last year” She rubbed her thumb against her other hand. “She went away on business and I never heard from her again.  I’m very worried, but I’ve been told not to look any further into it. Do you think you can find her?”

“Well of course, I’ll look into her disappearance as much as I can- do you have a name?”

 “Emmy.” Hershel froze, surely he’d misheard. Janice furrowed her brow, and unpinned a photo from her mirror. Hershel hadn’t fully acknowledged the images when he entered, but he could now see Janice stood with a formally dressed woman in the foyer of the theatre. It appeared Janice noticed his reaction. “She went to take photographs in Austria and never returned. Do you recognise her at all?”

“Emmy Altava?” Hershel tried to contain the shock as Janice confirmed, it was definitely not who he anticipated. He wasn’t aware that the two were even well acquainted, but then again he didn’t know much about Emmy’s personal life.  “Sorry I just.. I used to know her.”

“Really! Will you help me find her then?”

Hershel feared this mystery more than any of the others. Knowing Emmy’s past and her eventual regret of what she’d done, as well as Descole’s disappearance, he was greatly concerned for what happened to her. She’d seen Targent as her family, but they may not have seen her the same way. But regardless of his thoughts, he couldn’t deny a request to help someone he’d cared about.   

“I will.”

* * *

 

After the multiple investigations of the day, Hershel figured it was time to settle. There was a lot to think about. Returning to the _Ascots house_ (he couldn’t get used to thinking off it like that) was unusual. There was a warmth between his friends that he hadn’t seen in so very long.

In high school, Randall and Angela were very close- he and the others were often borderline uncomfortable, he was pretty sure they did it on purpose. But that closeness had definitely dimmed after Monte D’Or, Hershel could figure that an eighteen year gap would change people. They were more subtle, more old fashioned.

But here, they were just as sappy as they were at 17. It was heartwarming and sweet, but alo vaguely nauseating. Hershel was not an angry person, but if he heard ‘Randy’ or ‘Angie’ again he was going to leave.

He was sure he’d be able to stay at Barton’s if he asked nicely.

But as awkward as he felt being an apparent third wheel, it was familiar and oddly somewhat comforting.

They both welcomed him back grinning, as if he were another member of the family, and asked him about where he'd been. He gave minimal details, but the two were enthralled to hear he'd met an old student of his. 

As he sat in their kitchen eating dinner with them, he couldn’t help but slightly feel like this was right. A world where they were all still happy, they’d all kept in touch. There was no air of resentment, or the clear feeling he always had when he’d stayed with them in Monte D’Or. The distinct feeling that their lives had gone down separate paths that were simply too difficult to get back on course.

For just a moment he wondered if perhaps this was a better universe, his friends were happy. That had to count for something, maybe it was okay here.

But then he thought about Emmy and his brother. They were both missing. They could be in danger. Even if he hadn’t spoken to them for a while in his normal life, he still needed to know what happened to them. His gut instinct told him the incidents were definitely related.

There were also several people that he hadn’t discovered yet, who he hoped were okay. His family being a clear one. And there was something to do with the Azran. There was one point there where the two things coincided. There was also someone who’d be able to help him on this mystery without accusing him of making things up. He hoped his theories so far lined up with the truth as he asked.

“Randall, do you know the Triton family?”

“Clark Triton?” Hershel nodded “Yeah he’s an old college friend, I solved a case for him a few years back. Wild one, there was this big dinosaur manatee and-“

“Where do they live?”

“Misthallery I think, little lakeside village.” Layton was ecstatic to hear that, much easier to get there than America. He’d been meaning to visit the family. He didn’t have enough information to ponder the not moving.

“Can I borrow your car?” Randall raised an eyebrow as he continued eating.

“Sure, but why do you need to see Clark Triton?” Hershel considered for a moment revealing everything, but it wasn’t right just yet. And they’d think him crazy. “I didn’t think you knew him.”

“Old friends.” He brushed off the question “I have some things I need to figure out, and he’s the best man to talk to.” Technically his son was, but the lack of photos of Randall and his apprentice gave Hershel the impression that they didn’t have that particular affiliation in this universe, even if he’d taken on his cases. They wouldn’t understand.

But Luke would get it, they’d been on much more bizarre adventures. What was a case of mismatched memories when compared to the End of the World? And if he could figure out more about the Azran Legacies while there, well that was just a bonus. So long as Luke remembered who he was.

Hershel retired for the night in the spare bedroom, a plan formulating in his head. The pieces were beginning to come together, he just needed to find a way to connect them.

Next stop, Misthallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a lot of just discovering where people are right now, but there's a lot of things that need to come together. 
> 
> I'm considering dong a companion piece to this of oneshots set in this universe if anyone would be interested, little 'Bonus Episodes' if you will. Since I've written full bios for a majority of Layton characters, some of who aren't even in the story, and I want to do some more exploring!


	6. Lost in the Gloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I'm keeping to a vague schedule with this story? Absolutely Wild. Don't know how long it'll last but I'll be sure to ride this wave of motivation as long as I can.
> 
> (Also if any ages of characters are off please blame the wiki, I'm working post games and the timeline is hard as hell to keep track of when there's a prequel and sequel series. )

Randall’s car was a nightmare.

Yes, the Laytonmobile was old. Yes, it wasn’t a conventional design. Yes, Hershel’s parents had unsubtly hinted that he should get a new one and so had Alfendi.

But he’d prefer that to whatever this was.

This… modern car. With it’s low ceiling and working radio. How was he supposed to drive in something so cramped?

It took him a good few minutes to even get out the driveway. He could see Randall hesitantly watching from the living room window, probably fearing that Hershel would smash into his mailbox. He finally managed to edge out and down the street, figuring out where to go, the map laid out on the seat beside him.

Misthallery was about an hour’s drive (He wondered how on earth Emmy had been able to cope with doing this on her bike) which gave him a good amount of time to think.

He was sure Misthallery would be the same- there were reports of Specters long before Descole appeared to vanish. Though, he feared that his relationship with the Tritons may not be as close as he’d come to know, since there was no evidence of them recently corresponding. But he had to hope for the best. And he had to believe that Luke and him would always get on just fine regardless of what the circumstances were.

And there’s no way Triton’s and his relationship could have changed that much. They were the closest friends in college, even more so than him and Randall. Hershel was the one who introduced Clark and Brenda to eachother, and they’d spent so many nights studying. Those memories can’t have all gone. They had to be there somewhere.

Hershel furrowed his brow. He could feel his optimism trying to drown out his fear.

As he pulled into town, he noticed it was even more misty than he remembered. He didn’t think that was possible. It had already been rather foggy in his memory.

He’d hoped to slip in quickly, but no such luck. Three people stood round the entrance to town, one perched dangerously on the side of the rope bridge, swinging on the railing, seemingly disregarding the massive drop below them. They hadn’t seemed to see his approaching, or perhaps they were ignoring him. He parked just outside, assuming it was a safe place to leave the car. As soon as he was closer, he could make out the appearance of the figures. They didn’t seem threatening, but he wasn’t sure.

They were all young teenagers, probably a bit older as Luke. They still didn’t acknowledge him as he shut the door. The first was a boy leaning against the post, dressed in overalls with goggles hung round his neck, grease slicked across his cheek as if he’d just come away from working on a car. Stood beside him was a shorter girl with unusually girlish pigtails and a long peacoat. They looked related, and the two seemed to be involved in some kind of debate.

Perched on the bridge was a boy with long hair tied back in a ponytail, a faded scarf looped round his neck. He seemed slightly older than the others, though it may have just been from his serious expression as he stared into the fog.

Hershel had trouble placing them, but he knew these teenagers, he was certain of it. The one on the bridge shot him a look as he got closer, and clicked his fingers. The other two stopped their conversation and looked to him as he whispered something.

“Hey Mister.” The boy with Goggles called, standing up. “You looking for something?”

“I’m looking for Clark Triton.” He answered, going to move past them. He didn’t need to trouble them with an errand.

“I think I saw him in the Market Place. Why don’t we show you down there?” The boy grinned, and Hershel saw the other two suppress a giggle.

“Yeah go on, Socket can help you find him.” Hershel saw the girl pocket some kind of Medallion. He had a flash of nostalgia, he definitely knew these teenagers. The Goggled boy, Socket rubbed the back of his neck.

“And there’s uh, something else we can show you as well.”

“I don’t have time I’m afraid” He looked across the bridge, noticing the lack of traffic. “And from the looks of things the Market is closed.”

“Yeah but it’s just about to open!”

“And Clark is already there?” The boy’s eyes widened as he shot a glance to the girl.

“…Yes.” He saw the older boy with his face in his hands. Hershel figured it was safe enough to assume nothing had changed there.

“I’m very sorry to be so blunt but isn’t this con a bit… predictable?” Hershel asked, eyebrow raised. He watched the girl’s eyes dart towards the others. “And it’s hardly fair to try and trick a visitor.” Hershel offered, giving a stern but sorrowful look.

“Don’t know whatcha talking about.” The girl replied indignantly as she pushed her brother out of the way “We’re just trying to be helpful.”

“I don’t have time to find The Black Raven I’m afraid. So no need for you two to go and get changed.” There was a collective look of shock from the teenagers, who all tried to cover it up unsuccessfully. Socket tried to pretend he didn’t know what a Raven was.

Hershel remembered this group very well, his apprentice and children were quite fond of them. Though it was noticeably less adorable to be sold black market goods by teens rather than precocious school children.

“One second.” Said the girl, Wren, as she walked to the other boy. Their conversation was hushed but he could hear comments of _‘Who told him then?’ ‘Well you’re the only ones who know’ ‘I’ll bet it was Nabby’_

Eventually the boy with the scarf, Crow, huffed and approached him. He’d obviously hit a growth spurt, nearly reaching the same height as Hershel. It was hard to believe he was Flora’s age.

“All right, I don’t know who you are or how you know, but you gotta keep it secret okay? It’s hard enough having only 5 people running the Black Market, we don’t need nobody spilling our methods.”

“You have my word, I simply need to find Mr Triton.” Crow frowned, thinking.

“He’ll probably be at the Excavation site, he tends to hide out there at Weekends. Don’t tell him we know that.”

“Thank you.” Replied Hershel, tipping his hat. Crow pretended to tip his in return, smirking. Hershel continued over to the rope bridge into the main town before turning back “And do try to stay out of trouble.”

“Not making any promises!” He called.

 

* * *

 

The town of Misthallery had always been gloomy, though it was more of an atmospheric description. The fog never seemed to cease. But walking through town that morning, Hershel couldn’t help but apply it in a more personal way. He didn’t know if it was just the early morning, but everyone walking round seemed to be miserable.  Shop owners seemed to be thoroughly unimpressed that people wanted to buy things. He saw a little crature running along the edge of the Canals and, ignoring his judgement of how wet the floor was (it was very wet) knelt beside it. Mice weren’t easy to remember, but he was sure it was the right one.

“Hello Toppy. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Luke have you?” The mouse looked at him and squeaked before running back down the canal. Hershel hoped the mouse had gone to find his Apprentice, but he had no way of telling. He smiled at the woman who was staring at him, shaking her head at the Gentleman talking to a rodent.

As he continued, there were a few people milling around the outskirts, but the middle of town was nearly barren, it was an odd sight. He could see something unfamiliar in the distance and wondered if it was empty for a particular reason. Getting closer, he could see the once gleaming town centre was looking slightly decrepit. Not fully deserted, but just looking a little worse for wear. The canals round it didn’t see to be in use, and most of the houses were seemingly empty.

The one part that seemed to be well maintained, a spot of gold against the rust, was a plaque on the wall, by the doors of the Golden Garden.

Hershel walked closer, and read the inscription. He smiled sadly.

_  
In Memory of Arianna Barde_

_A dear sister_

_and Loosha_

_A beloved friend_

 

There was a small mosaic above, showing the silhouettes of the two of them. Someone had placed flowers beneath it.

He looked over at the Garden, which was sealed with a large padlock, It seemed as if it had been opened too late. He took his hat off and held it to his chest. Poor girl. Even if he hadn’t met the two in this world, it still hurt to know she hadn’t made it.

He wondered how Luke had coped. Those two were very close, she and her brother had visited London a couple of times. He must have been affected.

Suddenly he felt bad for trying to involve Luke in this bizarre mission. He knew it likely wasn’t his fault, but he was feeling slightly guilty for whatever had become of Misthallery. He had a gut instinct that he’d somehow caused this.

There must have been a reason why the Garden wasn’t opened in time.

But the most he could do for the poor girl was continue on and find a way back to the other timeline, where she was happy and healthy.

He shook his head, attempting to bury this unexpected grief, he moved towards the Excavation sight as Crow had suggested, and was happy to see the man he was looking for. He was sat with a book, looking at a rock beside him. He looked confused as Hershel approached.

“Clark?” he called, the man waved a hand, shutting his book. He as dressed casually, Hershel assumed it must be his day off. Crow had mentioned it being the weekend after all. The man jumped at his name being called, apparently not expecting visitors.

“Hello, do they need me back at the Hall?” he asked, looking sheepishly at the lunch laid out of the rocks. Hershel looked at his face. There wasn’t a hint of recognition in his eyes.

“No, you’re fine.”

“Oh good, it always seems like an issue comes up when I’m out the office.” He looked Hershel up and down, Hershel hoped for a moment that he’d started to recognise him. “Sorry, have we met?”

“I don’t believe so. Professor Layton.” Clark leant forward and shook Hershel’s hand.

“Professor? Not from a school round here I’m assuming”

“London.” He knew he was lying right now, but he hoped that something would spark a memory in Clark’s brain. He willed it to happen, he was tired of people not knowing him. “Gressenheller.” There was a grin and he hoped for a second that he wish came true.

“Oh, I studied there! Great place.” He smiled fondly at some unknown thought “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you actually. This will seem strange, but I need to speak with your son.” He watched Clark’s face, squinting.

“My son?” He seemed apprehensive. But any father would be wary of his son’s whereabouts. He decided to elaborate.

“Yes, I just wanted to discuss some-“ Clark held up a hand, cutting him off.

“No, sorry. I don’t have a son.”

Hershel stopped. His heart sunk.

“You… what?” he just stared at him, shaken.

“Just me I’m afraid, pretty sure you’ve got me confused with somebody else. I think there’s another Mr Triton over in Dropstone, maybe you’re thinking of him?”

Hershel could feel his chest getting tight.

“It seems as though I may be, sorry to bother you.” Clark tilted his head apologetically.

“Sorry that you travelled all this way, I know it’s a bit of a trek from London. Can I offer you-“

“No it’s fine, it was my mistake.”

Hershel left the site without saying goodbye, leaving a very confused Clark. Hershel walked back through the town briskly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He crossed the bridge and heard one of the Ravens call out to him.

“Hey mister, you leaving already? You only just got here.” He caught his eye, and he feared that the boy might have seen his bloodshot eyes. “Oh man, you alright?”

“I’m fine. Do you know anything about Luke Triton?” he asked, trying to keep composure. Crow shrugged.

“Never heard of him.”

 

* * *

 

  
Hershel could handle not being a famous Professor anymore. He could cope with relationships changing. He could deal with the fact that the world had seemingly postponed it’s own apocalypse.

But this was too much.

He swerved the car over to the side of the road. There was nobody else around, just him and his thoughts, so he stopped for a couple of minutes just catching his breath. He had to know what was going on. He had to stop this.

His apprentice didn’t exist. For some reason, some bizarre awful reason, he just wasn’t there.

He knew this world seemed too perfect, something was bound to be wrong.

It didn’t make sense.

Who else didn’t exist? His mind raced to his children, had they been erased from this world as well?

He pulled his notebook out of his bag, resisting the urge to rip the pages out, and went over his notes. There had to be a common thread. But there were so many strange details, it was hard to keep track of them. Thoughts whirled like puzzle pieces in his brain as he tried to connect them all.

Clark didn’t know him, and wasn’t with Brenda. (Where on earth was she then?). He hadn’t met Clark at Gressenheller, but Clark did GO to Gressenheller. Which meant that Hershel himself must have never studied there.

The Final Legacy hadn’t been unleashed and Emmy and Desmond, two people very involved in the Azran, were gone. Targent was still out there.

And, unless they were both desperately trying to deny that the Masked Gentleman happened, Randall and Angela were both leading a normal life.

As he wrote it all down, note by note, something clicked. The one thing that pushed him into studying Archaeology. He’d referenced it before, but he’d never thought any more about it. 

But he couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore.

 It would explain nearly everything.

He kicked the car back into gear, driving as fast as the speed limit would allow. He pulled up to their house an hour later, mind racing, and practically ran into the door. He knocked on it frantically, and was met with the person he’d hoped to see. He dropped all gentlemanly demeanour as he grabbed his friend’s shoulders, desperate to know if his theory was right.

“Randall. What happened when we went into the Akbadain Ruins?”

 

 


	7. Search

“…What?”

Hershel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to repeat himself. Clearly it wasn’t as obviously important as he’d hoped. He couldn’t get his thoughts straight after what had happened earlier, but he tried to repeat himself.

“What happened in the Akbadain ruins?” Randall lips curled, giving him a curious expression. His forehead creased.

“Hersh I haven’t a clue what you’re getting at. If something’s happened while-“ Hershel pulled his arms away from Randall’s shoulders, pressing his fingers to his own temple. Randall’s shoulders drooped as he leant in closer. “You okay?”

 “I just- I’m having some memory issues, and I can’t seem to remember what happened that day. I feel as though I’ve forgotten something important.” That part was true, though he'd forgotten quite a bit more than one day.

“Did you hit your head?” it was a half joking statement, but there was concern. He could obviously see that Hershel was worried.  “I don’t think you’d miss much by not remembering, nothing massive went down.”

“Please tell me what happened.” Randall stopped for a moment, thinking.

“I mean it wasn’t that exciting, the ruins were cool but we didn’t find anything. You were too scared to explore further I bet.” He smirked, but dropped it upon seeing Hershel’s expression. “Seriously Hershel, are you alright?”

“Did something… happen to either of us?”

“I sprained my ankle a bit.” He offered.

“Nobody got seriously hurt.”

“No.” Randall shook his head “Surprised neither us did to be fair, there were those mummies and that bit that collapsed.”

“Collapsed?” That sounded familiar.

“Yeah, I think one of us triggered a trap. Good thing you pulled me backwards.”

Things were clicking in, the last few puzzle pieces falling together. Things were back on track.

"What about the Mask?"

"Gave it to a museum a couple of years ago, figured they'd get more use out of it." 

“Can you excuse me a moment.” Hershel asked, not a question but an explanation. He pushed past, ignoring Randall’s continued questioning. Throwing his bag on the sofa, he headed into the Ground floor bathroom. He could hear Randall running up the stairs.

Hershel sat down on the edge of bathtub, working out where to start with everything.

Randall hadn’t fallen. They both walked out of Akbadain unscathed.

He’d had thoughts about it, but it seemed too bizarre.

Yet it would explain it all.

The only reason he moved out of Stansbury was because of the memories there.

The only reason he became an archaeologist was out of remembrance and a touch of guilt.

He stared at the mirror in front of him, big poofy hair and tired eyes, realising what this was. He was looking at a version of himself that could have been. A version who stayed behind and just went with what he was planning. No Professor, no Apprentice or Assistants. Just Hershel Layton.

He was sorry to say that he wasn’t a fan.

He watched his reflection, so like him but so off. Just ever so slightly different.

He wondered if that was why he'd felt so out of place. 

He hadn’t noticed it before, but there were little things that were wrong. There was supposed to be a scar on his arm from his sword fight in Labyrinthia. He’d always has a slight pain in his shoulder from when Flora landed on it after he caught her. There was meant to be a slight indent on his forehead from constantly wearing his Top hat. None of them were there.

They were tiny things, but It bothered him that they were gone. He felt like he was a guest in his own body.

He didn’t know if it was the shock or the remaining sadness from Misthallery, but he let his irrationality take control for a bit. Opening the bathroom cabinet, he found hairstyling tools. Taking the scissors in hand, he raised them to his hair.

He’d cut his hair shortly after getting to Gressenheller, a typical adolescent’s way of dealing with a new situation. He supposed it was a similar reason now.

He didn’t take off all of it, just enough to fit it properly under the cap. It was messy, and looked nothing like how he wanted it, but it was something. He swept up the mess into the bin and stared back at his reflection.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. He looked more like Professor Layton. 

Feeling a little more at ease, he pulled his notebook out of his pocket, filling in what details he could figure out for the mysteries he’d encountered. He figured the next thing to do was just solve the others, since he couldn’t yet work out how his absence, or Randall’s presence, could’ve affected them. There was still work to do.

He heard two sets of footprints on the stairs and then a knock at the door as he cleaned off the last of the mess he’d created, he expected they would come check on him eventually.

“Hershel?” came Angela’s quiet voice. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Randall said you seemed stressed.”

Hershel looked at himself once more, then turned the handle.

“I’m fine, no need to worry.” Angela and Randall’s facial expression betrayed the fact that they didn’t fully believe that. "But thank you for coming to see if I'm okay."

“Your..” Angela’s eyes darted upwards. Hershel raised a hand to his scalp.

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind that I used your scissors, I just really needed it gone. Does it look okay?” Angela nodded, but her face didn't change. 

“It’s … different.” Said Randall. Hershel knew it looked bad, but that wasn’t his worry right now. “Hersh, we’ve been talking. If something’s up, you can tell us.”

“I’m perfectly fine, honestly. I just have something I need to look into.” He didn’t need to get them involved now, he just had to solve it. He moved away from the bathroom, scanning around for some kind of hint about what to do next.

“Can we help at all?” Angela asked, Hershel eyes settled on something perched at the end of Randall’s nose.

 _How had I been so blind?_  

“Not yet. Randall, do you remember anything about Desmond Sycamore?” Randall’s hand instinctively moved to his glasses.

“The archaeologist?” he asked, clearly confused as to why he’d need to know about him. Hershel nodded “Uh yeah, he went reclusive a few years ago, doesn’t do digs anymore.”

Hershel resisted the ungentlemanly urge to yell out in celebration. Of course. Descole was gone, but Desmond had never been uncovered. He was still portraying him before they investigated the Azran, there would be no reason for him to stop acting as him. 

“Any information about where he’s living currently?”

“There was an interview with him in the London Times a while ago, mentioned him living with a niece in London, but I don’t think it gave away where.” He looked over at Angela, frowning, then turned back to Hershel “What are you getting at, Is he involved with whatever it is you keep disappearing to do?” Randall looked as if he was hiding his excitement at the possibility. Hershel sighed.

“Maybe.” He looked between his two friends, knowing that telling them the truth now would just upset them. How do you explain that you remember a whole other universe? “Look I.. I promise that I’ll explain everything soon, I just need to talk to a few more people.”

“You’d better. If you start uncovering some big archaeological conspiracy, I want in.” Randall joked before getting more serious. “And for the love of - please see someone about the memory loss.”

* * *

 

After reassuring his friends that yes, he’d be careful and explain everything, and no he wasn’t completely delusional, Hershel set out for his next destination. Something Randall said has sparked his interest, and he recalled something he’d read the other day. Taking a short bus ride across town, he arrived at the offices.

The London Times wasn’t his favourite paper to read, he found it slightly too focused on Gossip, but it was nice enough.

 It was a busy building, reporters rushing between rooms to make sure they were the first to post the latest article. An intern barely avoided him with a tray of hot tea. He checked the newspaper in his bag, making sure he’d definitely got the right person. Giving the receptionist the name of the journalist he was looking for, he was directed to a room on the second floor. He knocked and heard a voice tell him to come in.

He didn’t know if it was the perfect person to ask about this, he probably wasn't even in the top three best people, but Hershel had several questions he’d like to discover himself out of sheer curiosity. Something he couldn’t explain.

The room he’d been sent to was small, it clearly wasn’t the most prestigious working environment. Sat behind the desk was the man he’d only been able to get a glimpse of before; he held a coffee in hand and had a pile of work in front of him.

“Hello, what do you want?” he asked, seemingly annoyed that he’d been interrupted, but covering it up with a smile.

“You’re Clive Dove, I presume.”

“That’s what it says on my desk.” He gestured to the small plaque. “Please tell me you can give me a new story, I’m completely out of ideas.” Hershel took a seat opposite his desk.

 It was bizarre to be facing him in such a mundane situation. This was the boy who’d kidnapped the Prime Minister, attacked his friends, built an underground city. Hershel could understand his anger, but Clive had destroyed half of London. He couldn;t forgive him for the fact that his son often had nightmares about it. Those attacks had left Alfendi orphaned. That attack had ruined families.

Nobody could walk away from that guilt. 

But here was Clive Dove, clocking in the day shift.

“I’m afraid not. My name is Hershel Layton.” He offered his hand for a handshake. He could see that the boy’s scars continued onto his palm. “I need some information on Desmond Sycamore- I believe this paper ran an article on him a while back. I need to know where he is.” Clive tapped his fingers on the desk.

“It did but sorry, but I can’t tell you anything other than what was in the article. Confidentiality and all that.” He added, annoyingly smug. "He allowed the journalist access to his home but didn't give permission for it's distribution." Hershel tried another approach, perhaps he was sympathetic. 

“There must be some way you can help. I’m an old friend, and I need to find him.”

“That doesn’t bypass our rules I’m afraid.” He pulled open a drawer beside him “I can find the article if you want, see if I can find anything.” Hershel pursed his lips, he knew it couldn’t be so easy.

“I suppose that could be useful.” As Clive rummaged in the files, Hershel looked round the desk. The only not work related item on it was a framed photograph of a young boy and two adults, it had faded slightly with age. Clive looked up, face sinking as he saw what Hershel was looking at.

“Me and my parents.” He explained. Hershel nodded, he had suspected as much. “Lost them when I was really young. Explosion at the Science Lab. I like to keep a photo of them with me.”

Hershel had never really known Clive Dove. He’d known Future Luke (Hershel had suspicions that he wasn’t who he said he was as soon as he was unable to speak to the rabbit that Luke had addressed with no problem) but the boy beneath the façade was entirely different. 

He wondered how similar this one was to the one he’d met.

“I lost someone that day as well.” He wanted to sympathise. Clive tunred away, seemingly forgetting what he was supposed to be looking for. “It’s hard to talk about.”

“It is. That’s the day I got all these” he pointed a hand to the scars on his face and his eye. “I thought I could go and rescue them, but I got trapped in the Fire. Whole building basically came down on me.”

“You ran in?”

“Yeah. You’d think somebody would’ve stopped me” he laughed, but without emotion.  Hershel felt a strange twinge of guilt. “No idea what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t, you were probably overcome with emotion.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had issues with that. When I knew what happened I got so angry at that Bastard of a scientist.” Hershel was taken aback for a second, feeling his parental side take over.

“Now come on there’s no need to-” Clive rolled his eyes

“Oh, Fuck off, I’m allowed to be mad.” Hershel didn’t know how to respond. Clive took a sleeve to his face, wiping it.  “But hey-“ he took a deep breath, trying to get back on track. “I got my face fixed up, went to counselling, it’s all good. Now I have a wonderful-l” he slapped the back of his chair “-desk job where I write about other people’s lives going to hell.”

Hershel watched him shake his head as he pulled a file out of the cabinet. He wondered if he’d had the same revengeful thoughts after the event, he certainly still seemed to harbour a grudge.

“I’m sorry for bringing back those memories.” He apologised, aware that he didn’t need to pry. It was hard to separate hurt people from their tragedy. Clive took a moment to stop, breathing through his nose.

“No worry, let’s just pretend that didn’t happen. I think these-“ he slammed the files onto the desk, trying to squint away the redness in his eyes. “are the written documents for Professor Sycamore’s interview. We don’t use everything in the article so there might be something.”

As Clive searched through the document, Hershel had an idea. He knew the address was the only thing he needed, and Clive mentioned being in search of a new story. It had worked for Chelmey, why not him? 

“Mr Dove, Do you know of a man named Descole?” he saw Clive’s eye light up for a second. He figured a boy that dreamed of revenge would be intrigued by him.

“I do.” Clive looked towards him curiously “He used to be a big source of news, but I haven’t heard anything from him. Heard a lot of conspiracies.” Descole was certainly a bit of an Urban Legend in his universe. He was happy for the fact if only to use it as a bargaining chip, his other secrets brought about by his otherworld knowledge didn't seem to help much. Revealing that 'Don Paolo can disguise himself as small women' wasn't quite as powerful. 

“I have some… information that might interest you. If you can give me Professor Sycamore’s location.” Clive seemed to perk up, Desmond’s article in hand. Hershel knew this wasn’t normal protocol for Reporters, but he was sure part of the old Clive Dove was in there.

“Now that probably counts as a bribe, but I’m listening.” He smirked.

Hershel knew his brother would kill him if ever found it out, and he was certainly walking a thin line, but seeing as he didn’t seem to be using the alias much anymore.

“Descole is the son of the Targent Leader.” Hershel hoped he’d recognise the names, unsure if the common person would know Targent. As Clive’s eyes widened, he knew he was right.

“You’re joking.” He said, writing the information down.

“Learnt it through someone involved in the Crown Petone Case.” He bluffed, desperately trying to keep the conversation away from Desmond in fear of Clive connecting the dots. He kicked himself in hindsight at what a dangerous thing it was to reveal.

“That explains so much.” He stood up, pulling other documents out of the boxes “That’s why he was spotted at Azran sites.”

“It must be.”

“Was he kicked out or did he leave?”

“That’s all I can tell you I’m afraid. Now, I believe that we had an agreement.” Clive fumbled in his pocket for a post it note, and copied down the address from the article he’d found. He shoved it towards Hershel as he began making a phonecall. 

Hershel left the office knowing fully well that Descole’s identity would be on the front page of every newspaper in two days time. But that didn’t bother him too much, he was planning to get the world fixed before then.

* * *

The address Clive had given was in a rather unsavoury part of London, and it made Hershel wince as he left the Underground station. It was smog filled, and perpetually dark. There were a couple of people round the corner, deep in discussion. Or doing something else. Hershel dreaded to think what.

It was not an easy place to get around. Nobody in their right mind would come searching for an Archaeologist here. 

It was the perfect place to hide out.

The house was difficult to find, but he eventually deduced it to be the one with all the curtains shut, and several bolts across the door. Not a very welcoming exterior. 

He knocked on it quickly, hearing someone moving inside. Footsteps approached the door, and a man's voice started to speak.

“Sorry but I’m not accepting visitors right now.” It was almost his normal voice, and someone who didn’t know him would never suspect who it was. But Hershel could hear his real accent through the fake one. He huffed and rapped on the door again.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Come back later.”

Hershel knew the only way to get to the bottom of everything was to speak to this man, and he was going to pull out every trick he had in order to get back home. He leant close to the door and spoke quieter.

“I know your real name isn’t Desmond, it’s Hershel Bronev. And we both know that we’re brothers.” There was silence. “Please let me talk to you, just for a moment.” There was more silence. Then the click of a lock.

“Come in. Quickly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters that are legally allowed to swear in my fics: Dalston, Clive.  
> That's it. Everyone else is banned. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not sure who started the headcanon of 'Alfendi lost his parents in the Mobile Fortress attack' but I've seen it floating around in fics and posts for a while and I love it so thank you whoever invented it 
> 
>  


	8. Family Relations

A lot of the people Hershel had met in this world looked like happier, more fulfilled versions of themselves. They often seemed younger or more relaxed, as if their pain and worry had washed away.

Desmond Sycamore was the opposite.

Hershel surveyed him as he stepped into the house. He was never the youngest of men, but now the age truly showed in his face. The lines were more prominent, and a couple of grey hairs poked through the brown. He dressed smartly but the clothes were all wrinkled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up hastily. Slippers adorned his feet.

The house itself was small and, for lack of a better word, _sad_. A dully painted living room with a dining table, coatrack and two sofas. A small kitchen expansion was tacked onto the side of it, and a hallway led to what Hershel presumed was the bedrooms. Not particularly flashy, and not particularly cosy.

The only things that gave it some character were the Archaeology books on the shelf, one laying sprawled out on the table, and a large map of the world with five pins stuck into it in various places.

“Do you want to explain to me-“ Desmond took a deep breath as he locked the door behind him, closing his eyes “How in the _hell_ you know any of this?” Hershel took a breath, trying to figure out exactly where to begin. He hadn’t made an attempt with anyone yet, the prospect worried him.

“It’s complicated.” Desmond looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Theo-“

“I prefer Hershel actually.” Desmond looked at him curiously then turned away, seemingly amused.

“You’re still going with it, even after knowing?” Hershel nodded. “Okay. Hershel.” He spoke the name slowly, as if getting used to it. “I can work with that.”

It was odd for Hershel to see Desmond again. Especially as he didn’t seem to have reconnected with him before this point, he couldn’t imagine what was going on in the poor man’s head. Your estranged brother shows up at the door 30 years on and reveals all your deepest secrets. Not an easy thing to ignore.

Hershel decided the best route was just to be frank. Desmond had certainly had stranger experiences if his past was the same.

“Desmond, do you believe in the existence of separate universes?” Desmond looked at him, as if expecting a punchline.

“Possibly, depends on the context.”

“The context of me being from another universe.” Desmond went to open his mouth, then shut it. He stopped before speaking again.

“You lost me.” Desmond shook his head, exasperated. Hershel began again, realising the only way to do this was to just throw relevant information at him and hope it clicked. Starting right at the beginning.

“In my life” Hershel began, slowly. “I’m a Professor at Gressenheller university. I woke up the other day as a History Teacher in the middle of the countryside.” Desmond made eye contact for a few seconds, then walked to the kitchenette, rubbing his temple.

“I feel like this is going to be a long story.” he asked, flipping the kettle on. “Tea?”

Hershel sat, trying to condense as much information as possible, as he desperately tried to explain what had happened. He started with his morning in Stansbury, how he had moved years ago but woke up there again. He explained his meetings with his friends and how they’d all changed as well. Desmond listened intently, not giving any indication of his thoughts.

“It doesn’t appear as though we’ve met recently here.” Hershel explained “But in my memory, we met in Misthallery during the case with the Specter.” He saw Desmond chuckle slightly. “The one where you disguised yourself as Clark Triton’s butler.”

“So you know Descole as well then?” he confirmed as he poured out two mugs. Hershel hoped that would improve his claims. Desmond tilted his head as he stirred the drinks. “Well you’re close, I disguised myself as Clark Triton. My own butler disguised himself as Doland.”

Right, if certain people wasn’t around. He’d need a slightly different Plan. Hershel wondered who’d managed to get in contact with the authorities in his place. Hershel noticed an opening to prove his claims further.

“Where is Raymond?” Desmond stopped mid pour, Hershel smirked at that. Surely he hadn’t expected him to know the name.

“He’s with family right now.” He answered, ignoring him.

“Did he take the Bostonius or the Smaller Airship?” Hershel asked, tilting his head modestly as if it was a perfectly normal question. Desmond seemed to understand that it wasn’t a legitimate query. Hershel found himself getting more confident in his ability to convince him. “Look Desmond, I know your past, I know your current life. Do I need to give you any more proof that I comprehend more than you expected?”

Desmond walked over with the two mugs and handed one to Hershel. Hershel was happy to find there was finally someone who could make a good cup of tea.

“What’s our mother’s name?”

“Rachel Bronev.”

Desmond was silent for a while, pacing as Hershel sat down awkwardly on the armchair. Desmond placed his mug down then closed his eyes, leaning his hand on the wall. After a few moments he leant back, clapping his hands.

“Okay. I’ll humour you. Let’s work under the presumption that you are from…” he moved his other arm around, searching for the right word “Another universe where you solve mysteries. What kind of universe was it?”

“Another timeline I believe.” Hershel explained. “But I feel as if I can pinpoint it back to one small thing that changed.” Desmond clicked his fingers.

“A classic case of The Butterfly Effect.”

“That’s how it seems” Hershel could see the cogs turning in Desmond’s brain.

“You know” He began. “For a supposed small town history teacher that I haven’t seen in decades, you know a bit too much for comfort.”

“So you believe me?” Hershel asked, almost sceptical.

“Some of it.” That was all Hershel needed. Just a glimpse of someone understanding.

“Can you help me figure out a way back? I think it may related to the Azran.” He added, wondering whether he should let Desmond know he understood a great deal more than expected. Right now they seemed to be dancing round how much he knew. 

“I can certainly try.” He said, picking up his mug and blowing on the drink. “Though I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you much on the Azran side of things.”

“Well I’m sure your ‘niece’ will be able to.” Desmond was in the middle of taking a sip and spluttered slightly at Hershel’s comment. He turned round, staring at him. “It’s a bit of an interest of hers I gather" Desmond eventually loosened up and grinned.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“I knew her back in my time. And the newspaper article mentioned her without a name. ”

“That slimy little reporter…” He muttered to himself as he rolled his eyes. “God knows what other information he’s got a hold of.”

“On top of that, there’s a map showing the correct Egg’s locations. And there’s two coats on the pegs. Different sizes.” Hershel pointed round the room as he named the clues. Desmond followed them round with his eyes.

“You’re observant.”

“Is she here now?” Desmond seemed unsure, but eventually appeared to deem Hershel safe company. He had a suspicion as to who it might be, and his suspicions were confirmed when Desmond called out.

“You’re okay, he’s a friend.”                                            

Round the corner, hesitantly, came a girl who could be easily mistaken for a teenager. He could understood why Janice was confused, but Hershel knew just how old she really was, and she hadn’t aged a day. She wore mismatched socks and baggy dress, several sizes too big and very faded. As if a parent had bought it and expected their child to grow into it, but they’d never quite got there.

“Aurora” Desmond gestured between the two of them “This is my brother-“ he paused, as if still unsure which name to use.

“Hershel Layton.” He answered. Aurora looked at him, Hershel tried to make himself seem welcoming. He hoped he was able to hide the sadness that crept into his eyes, this was the first time he’d seen someone who hadn’t survived. He wished Luke was still here, he’d give nothing more than to reunite the two. It seemed to be very give and take in this world.

“Hello.” Aurora said, cautiously. She looked over to Desmond then back at him. “Sorry to eavesdrop.”

“It’s no worry. I just needed to discuss some things with Desmond.” He smiled and she seemed to become less nervous, her shoulders becoming less tense.

“Well it’s lovely to meet Desmond’s family.” She settled on the arm of the sofa opposite him. She looked between Hershel and Desmond then spoke again. “You didn’t ask if I wanted a tea.”

“You don’t like tea.” Aurora pulled a face, Hershel had never seen her seem so much like a normal teenager. It was a good sight.

“But it’s nice to be asked.” Desmond looked at her with impatience, and she laughed.

“Rora, do you know of any Azran artefacts that could cause a split in timelines, or alter the past in some way?” Aurora bit her lip, thinking. "He already knows, apparently." Desmond seemed to look at Hershel for a reaction, but Hershel made no sign of misunderstanding.

It was strange to see them both like this. They’d got along fine on their mission, they all had, but Desmond had no qualms about betraying them soon after. Hershel suspected he had no real empathy towards the girl until she was in danger. But here he seemed to be much more friendly towards her, as if she were an actual relative or a close friend. Perhaps it was the time he’d spent away from being Descole.

“I’m sure there is but I don’t know it’s name. I’m sorry.” Aurora said after thinking for a while, her face apologetic.

“It’s no worry.” Hershel added reassuringly, though he was slightly disheartened to know it wouldn’t be so easy.

“I can help you to find it if you’d like.” At seeing her face, wide eyed and inquisitive, he couldn’t help but think of Flora. It was odd, usually the comparison was the other way around. There was also a slight glimmer of Luke in the way she spoke, he supposed some things were always going to be there. She felt a lot more human.

“That would be wonderful.”

“You said you were going to sleep.” Desmond said, as Aurora began to recline on the chair casually.

“I’ve already slept for long enough.” She said, Hershel couldn’t tell if it was an intentional joke, but Desmond laughed. “And I wanted to know what Mr Layton had to say.” But she hopped up from her seat anyway.

“Well go listen to the radio, I just need to speak with Hershel for a bit.” Desmond ruffled her hair, and she unenthusiastically headed off to the other room. Hershel waited till she was definitely out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

“How did this situation come about then?” Desmond sighed, settling down on the sofa.

“Safety.” He answered quietly, as if he didn’t want her to overhear. “It was only meant to be for a few months but it’s gone on quite a bit longer than intended.”

Hershel tried to figure it out in his head but had no luck, the Bostonius journey had been so long ago, it was hard to remember exactly.

“She’s been living with you all these years?” Desmond nodded. “It’s very strange to see her, In my timeline she’s…” He trailed off, but Desmond seemed to get what he was hinting at, his face dropping. He choked back the end of his sentence, continuing his investigation. “You found her in Froenborg I assume, just before the Crown Petone Case.”

“You want a full run down? Okay, Initially, I thought my research was leading me to something else.” Hershel puzzled it out in his head, figuring out what his plans had been.

“The Legacies?”

 “That was my assumption. But I was wrong, I found her. She didn’t remember much about the Azran, but I figured she’d regain it eventually. So she accompanied me to the Crown Petone, and helped raise Ambrosia. And then we located Akbadain.”

Hershel didn’t feel the need to mention how probably illegal many of those things were. He gathered that Desmond was probably aware. He suddenly noticed something that didn't quite ad up. 

“How did you find Akbadain? Didn’t you need the Masks to find it?” He vaguely remembered that being why he’d been in Monte D’Or in the first place.

“I broke in and stole the Masks years ago. Current ones are fake.” Hershel figured that was a fact he didn’t need to tell Randall. Probably a bit disheartening.

“And then Aurora told you about the Azran Eggs.” he looked over to the map on the wall, all the locations were correct as far as he remembered.

“Yes. But when it started getting dangerous we just… stopped, and somehow she ended up staying with me.”

“You’re keeping her trapped here.” Desmond scoffed at his accusation.

“Not at all. I’ve tried many times to find her somewhere safer to live.” He was very confident in his intentions. “Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to find her a real home so that I can go back to my own daughter.” Hershel took note of that, but made no attempt to tell him of his family’s fate in his world. He didn’t need that burden.  

“Can she not stay with someone else?” He suggested. Surely there were families who’d have no problem keeping an eye on her for a while. He was certain that the version of himself in this world would have agreed.

“There’s nobody I can trust.” He said, hitting his hand on the arm of the sofa. “As soon as Targent realises who she is, they’ll be after us. I’m good as dead if they figure it out.” He took a second to calm himself down.  “Keeping her hidden keeps everyone safe.”

“You’re both trapped.” Said Hershel, realising why they were in this worn out old house in the middle of a danger prone street. It was all protection.

“We’re at a stalemate right now. I have two of the Azran Eggs, Targent took one and another was recently found by someone else. If I make a move to get the final one, I’ll lead Bronev straight to it.”

“Do you know where it is?” Desmond gestured towards the map.

“San Grio. Aurora’s the only one who for sure knows the locations, Bronev and Ascot found them by luck.”

“Right.” _At least Targent doesn’t have the information._

“I just don’t want them to figure me out. Bronev knows that Descole is with the Emissary. Bronev _doesn’t_ know that Desmond and Descole are one in the same.” He explained, clenching his fist. “I’m worried about what kind of leverage he’ll use against me if he ever finds out.”

Hershel felt his chest tighten. He worried for a moment if anything he’d said to Clive would be too incriminating. But Hershel shook that thought aside, he had to hope Clive would keep to his word. He thought for a moment, remembering how this trek went in his world.

“I can help you find the other egg, but I can’t promise you’ll like the outcome of finding them.” His gaze drifted over to the hallway, where faint music could be heard from Aurora’s room. Desmond sighed, and moved towards a box on a shelf.

“I figured as much. But if I can make get hold of as many as possible then I have the upper hand.” He pulled out the Eggs he’d already collected and showed them. Hershel could see a faded white mask inside the box as well. Desmond frowned. “And when we have them, we’ll figure out what we do with them. Destroy them, combine them. I’m not sure. Whatever feels right.”

Hershel moved towards him and put an arm on Desmond’s shoulder. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. Hershel suspected he didn’t get close to people often.

“We’ll find out what to do with Aurora, and we’ll get you back to your family.

“And though I'm not sure if you're truly from another universe, we’ll get you back home.” Desmond smiled, then continued. “I don’t know how yet I haven’t actually figured out what that means, because I don’t know what’s going on with you. But we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: Updates for this will probably be slower come September, cause I'm back to class. I would apologise but also I DO need a degree so.


	9. Winding back the Clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna update this till Tuesday but I got some lovely comments on here and FF and thought, why not finish off that last bit?
> 
> {I think this the last chapter that's 'introducing the world' and we can get onto actual plot. Except for a character or two mentioned in the tags, they're coming I swear. I promise Emmy is here somewhere)

“I’ll phone you if I have any more information, can I get your number?” Desmond asked pulling a pen and notepad out. Hershel thought for a second, and was silent. Desmond turned at look at him, exasperated. “You don’t have a phone?”

“I have one, but I prefer doing things by letter.” He admitted. Desmond rolled his eyes. Hershel was used to that reaction, people called him old-fashioned very often, but in his opinion letters were just easier. Flora used the phone more than him. “I’m staying with friends right now, they should have one.” Desmond scribbled down on the notebook and tore a page out.

“You’ll have to call me then.” He handed the sheet over. “Aurora will answer if I’m not here. Please, try not to be too obvious, I want to keep at least a vague air of anonymity.”

“Thank you” Hershel said, brushing over the Clive article Debacle that weighed on his mind. He had his fingers crossed that they could sort this out soon.

Aurora had come out to see him once more before he left, making him promise to come and visit them again. He said that he would, but she made him pinkie promise anyway. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with her, given how little they’d been able to see eachother in his past.

And it was nice to be able to talk to people who understood. The lack of secrets made it so much easier to talk, and there was no deception involved.

Except for the fake name and persona of his brother, but that was a given.

All they had to do, was locate the other egg and figure out what caused him to be in a new world.

As he left, making his way back through the seedy alleys, he realised what he had to do next.

The time had come.

There was no way to get around the topic anymore, he needed more information on the Azran and the past. And though it was a worrying plan, it was a better idea than stealing the egg from Randall’s office.

He’d convinced Desmond, how hard could it be?

It had started raining by the time he reached the Ascots and he caught Angela right as she was walking out the door. She seemed happy to see him, but her eyes showed confusion. Hershel tried to shake the rain off of his hair.

“Where have you been?” She asked, propping the door open with her foot as she kept her umbrella aloft.

“Talking to some people, are you headed out somewhere?” Hershel asked, waiting to disclose his day. Angela held the umbrella over to cover both of them and gestured with her shoulder.

“I was going to the library-“ She looked him up and down. “Do you want to come?”

“Possibly” he answered, only vaguely hearing her. “Can I talk to you and Randall quickly? I need to explain some things.”

Angela’s expression softened. He expected she’d want answers about his outburst in the morning. She checked her watch and pushed the door open further.

“Sure.”  

Randall appeared from the hallway with phone in hand as they entered, and pointed to it to imply he was in the middle of conversation. He moved his hand in Angela’s direction, drawing attention to the fact she was still there. Angela pointed towards Hershel as she shook off the umbrella, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

He wasn’t a nervous person, but his last conversation with them hadn’t been favourable.

Randall finished the phonecall finally, the person on the other end clearly not wanting to say goodbye as he’d tried to stop the conversation many times already.

“You’re back early.” He acknowledged them as he placed the phone back down. “Have you heard anything from Henry recently? Mum says he missed work yesterday.”

“Perhaps he’s ill?” Angela suggested. Randall nodded

 “I’ll check up on him later, not like him to be a no show.” He pursed his lips, pushing the subject aside. He looked at his watch. “I’m headed out in a few minutes, Lecture starts at half past and I want to try and be there early, do you want a lift?”

“Randall, Hershel says he needs to talk about something.” Hershel missed the expression she pulled, but it clearly got a reaction from Randall as his eyes widened. He dropped the question of the lecture.

“Right.”

Hershel took a breath, knowing that there was no coming back from this point. He settled down on the armchair, which prompted the others to sit down. Hershel waited, wondering if he could come up with an excuse, but this was the best he could come up with. Time to jump in feet first.  
  
“I’m from a different universe.”

Their reactions were decidedly worse than Desmond’s. Randall looked round the room and back to Hershel before laughing awkwardly. Angela could only squint her eyes and tilt her head, staring at him blankly.

“Okay?” Randall said, frowning. Angela smiled politely and watched him from the corner of her eye. Hershel looked between them, trying to find a way to make himself more believable. They weren’t off to a good start.

“I know I sound foolish, but I promise you that I tell the truth.” Angela looked positively lost, and Randall seemed unsure whether he was supposed to be laughing.

 

_They think I’ve completely lost my mind._

“Is this like… a joke I’m missing?” Randall said, rubbing his neck. He looked to Angela whose face made it clear she was not following. Hershel decided to make it more personal.

“I don’t mean to take credit for your work, but in my memory, I was the one who solved your mysteries. St Mystere, Ambroisa, Folsense- I was there.” Randall looked puzzled for a moment before clicking his fingers.

“You were the one who was rooting through the old files! Chelmey did say someone was looking into them. Good prank set up but-“

“This is not a joke. I knew about them before reading the files.” He interrupted, not allowing Randall’s line of thinking to go any further. “I solved them, when I was Professor Layton.” Randall laughed, but stopped himself.

“You’ve got a lot of commitment to this, huh Hersh.”

Hershel closed his eyes, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. How was this so far fetched? They’d seen their friend come back from the dead, unexplainable miracles, ruins raising a city.

Except they hadn’t.

Hershel had no idea what other mysteries he’d solved, how many things had changed. He couldn’t namedrop villains or witnesses like he could with Desmond, all he knew was the police reports. There was no proof.

“I am being serious. This-“ He gestured to himself. “-Is not what my life is supposed to be.”

“We all feel like that from time to time.” he offered unhelpfully.

“No, I mean it in a literal sense I’m afraid. I’m from an altered timeline.” Hershel stopped, finally hearing himself. “I’m aware that it sounds Delusional.”

“I’m going to ring the hospital,” Randall said, standing up, Hershel mimicked him.

“No, that isn’t-“

“We were talking about it earlier.” He went to push past Hershel. Hershel grabbed his arm. “With the memory issues and now this, I think you may have hit your head.”

Hershel wracked his brain, he thought this would be so easy, but their life had changed too much for him to reliably prove his claims.

“You have to believe me, please. Would I lie to you?” Angela stood up to match them, she’d been quiet for a while. She turned to Hershel and their eyes met, and Randall shrugged off Hershel’s arm. Angela spoke cautiously.

“What…Universe are you from?”

“Angela” Came Randall’s voice hesitantly, she shushed him.

“I don’t believe you’d lie to us Hershel, I’m just a little confused.” Hershel drew a breath. It was time to just tell the story. He turned his gaze to Randall.

“In my memory. We didn’t both come back from Akbadain.”

* * *

 

Hershel explained everything. Randall’s Fall, Henry’s City, The Masked Gentleman. He told them about how he became a professor out of grief, and how it had all gone.

The two of them listened, warily. At first it appeared to just be intrigue. But as he continued it seemed as if they came to believe his claims more and more. They didn’t interrupt as he spoke, just simply letting him tell his story. They sat there a good ten minutes, Lecture and Library forgotten, just allowing him to talk.

“That’s…. A lot to take in.” Angela finally said as Hershel explained how he woke in Stansbury.

“Quite a specific delusion isn’t it?” Said Hershel, becoming more confident. He could see Angela beginning to come to grips with what he’d said. Randall on the other hand, seemed unwilling to believe.

“So in your mind, I’m a super villain who tried to kill you?” he said, bluntly.

“That’s not supposed to be the takeaway.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, tapping his hands on the side. “That was a great story, but I feel like it’s time to come off that now.” He stood up, seeming to get angry. “You just come clean now and admit this is just a dumb prank, otherwise I’m sticking with my initial idea which is that you’ve lost your mind.”

Hershel could see his frustration. He was claiming Randall’s entire life was fake, and that his true life was an amnesiac Villain. Hershel wouldn’t be thrilled if someone had told him that.

At least when someone told him his whole life was a lie, they just meant his childhood was fake.

“What reason would I have to make things up?”

“Hershel, ignore him. I believe you.” Angela said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She seemed sincere.

“Well of course you do!” Randall said, throwing his arms up “YOUR life doesn’t sound too bad in his fantasy. You get to marry Henry and get rich.”

“What, are you Jealous?” she added, which threw him off track and elicited rolled eyes and a hint of a smile. But when he saw Hershel laugh, his anger seemed to be right back.

“Randall, I mean no ill will towards you with what I’ve said.” Hershel restated, Randall clapped his hands and pointed towards him.

“Really? Cause either you’re crazy, or it’s all true and you’re hinting that it’s my fault.”

 “Randall, this isn’t about that.” Said Angela.

“He says I didn’t fall in a pit and so now his life is bad, how am I not meant to take that personally?” he asked, folding his arms. He seemed to have taken Hershel’s claims to heart, and Hershel felt as though he may have gone about this the wrong way. Did they really need to know about their other life?

_You know how Randall got about Henry supposedly stealing his life, why would this be different?_

“I don’t believe you had any part to play in this, I’m simply recounting my memories.” Said Hershel, as he gave Randall a chance to cool off “I’ve lost many, many things from my life. My children, my friends.” He stopped, finding himself getting worried. “I’m just trying to figure out why, and how I can find them.”

“Hershel. I’m sorry about this, I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Angela’s words seemed to trigger something, as Hershel found his shoulder shaking. He missed everyone, a lot. Randall looked over and unfolded his arms, he eyes darted between him and Angela. He walked over and sat on the sofa beside him.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked, less harsh than his other words.

“Luke Triton, Clark’s Son.” Randall moved as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. Hershel nodded. “Apparently doesn’t exist, I know. He was my apprentice. And both my children are missing, and my old Assistant.” He heard Angela gasp. “The only people I’ve managed to find are you and my brother.”

Randall bit his lip, and the room was silent. He walked to the phone, coiling the wire round his fingers and just waited there for a moment. Angela turned to look at Hershel.

“Did you say your brother?”

Hershel shrugged, that was far too complicated to address now.

“Different story, I’ll get into that one another time.” Angela seemed annoyed at his lack of comment, but settled back in her chair.

Randall finally moved, but it was to pick up his bag and head towards the door.

“Randall.”

“I’m late for my afternoon lecture.” He pulled a jacket on, and his face made it clear there was no convincing him to stay. “You can have the car, I’ll walk.”

Hershel and Angela stayed, watching him storm out. Hershel thought it was in their best interests to just let him go. Angela closed her eyes, clasping her hands together and for a moment Hershel could see the woman he knew from Monte D’Or. She opened them and look at him apologetically.

“He’ll come around.” She said, though Hershel wasn’t too sure. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I do believe you. There were things you’ve said over the weekend that felt… odd.”

“Really?” He asked, honestly surprised. He’d tried s hard to be inconspicuous.

“You mentioned children you’d never talked about before, and had no memory of things I clearly explained in my last letter. I thought it was rude to mention it, in case you’d just forgotten.” Hershel has to smile, she was very sweet to ignore the confusion.

“I felt like it might be a bit much for a first impression, Sorry to drag you into this.”

“No it fine, I’d rather know. I want to help.” She said, grinning. “And I think I might know someone who can give us some help”

“Really?”

“It’s a timeline differene right? Well there was an ex schoolmate of Randall’s, he interned at the Polydimens- Polyd.” She stopped, trying to sound out the name. She eventually gave up. “I specifically remember him looking at Split Timelines and time travel.” That sounded very promising, and Hershel couldn’t help but habit a guess.

“Dimitri Allen by any chance?” Angela looked impressed.

“How did you… Alternate universe, right.” She and Hershel both nodded. “That’s one more point towards me believing you.”

“Yes, I’ve met him before, though I’m afraid we’re not particularly close.” He said, thinking about last time they spoke.

_That’s an understatement._

Though Hershel assumed he would likely be a different situation here.

“Well him and I get along fine, I’m sure he’ll be able to give us an insight.” She got up, luckily still dressed to go out. “The library can wait.”

The made their way to the car and Hershel got in the driver’s side. He hated the car, but he wasn’t going to make his friend’s chauffeur him around. Especially a pregnant lady who just found out her life is a lie.

They headed to the lab, which was just by Gressenheller. They drove past a sopping wet Randall on the way (he’d left without a coat it seemed) But he ignored them as they passed.

The Lab was one he’d passed by several times but only entered once or twice. It had to be rebuilt many times, after the explosion and the recent destruction. It was a smaller section of the Institute of Polydimensional Physics, and was used by both students and self employed scientists.

 The memories he had of this place were happy, but knowing what occurred there made him sick to his stomach.

A handful of Scientists were there already, milling round the main reception. Hershel was pretty sure it was just after lunch. He saw a recognisable mop of grey hair above the crowd.

“Dimitri!” Angela called, the man turned, looking unthrilled to see her.

Dimitri Allen, Hershel noticed, looked more or less the same. (Though he was noticeably not in prison.) He was dressed in lab gear with his hair pinned up. Hershel was happy to see it, and it was easier to get accustomed to that the more extreme changes he’d seen in others. Dimitri looked confused, as if trying to place her.

“Mrs Ascot?” He furrowed his brows, looking at them. “What are you doing here?”

“Quick drop by. Can I talk to you??” Dimitri fiddled with the edge of his gloves, seeming to want to leave the conversation. He didn’t even acknowledge Hershel. “It’s for Randall’s lecture.”

“I’m incredibly busy, I’ve got reports due in for-“

“It’ll be very quick, do you know anything about Split timelines and Alternate Universe?” Dimitri looked mildly interested.

“I did my dissertation on Timeline splits in reference to time travel, I’m sure I know something.” He answered, with an air of authority.  “But you’re going to have to be more specific-“ One of the other scientists begun to call his name across the room and he looked slightly flustered. “I… Hold on, Can I direct you to someone else for a moment? I’ll get back to you in a second.”

“If you have someone else that knows time travel then yes, definitely.”

“Give me a moment.” Dimitri called out a name across the room, but was met with no reply. Another scientist assured her that she’d go and fetch her. Hershel hoped for a moment he’d misheard, then prayed he hadn’t misheard.

That couldn’t have been what he said.

There was a flurry of movement he didn’t see and words from Angela that he didn’t acknowledge as he got caught up in that name. There was no possible way.

But there she was.

She rounded the corner and Hershel’s heart stopped, as he felt an overwhelming heartache he’d only felt once before.

He tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed her, as he tried to regain composure. The woman got on her tiptoes and kissed Dimitri’s cheek, which made both his and Hershel’s face redden.

 “This is Angela Ascot” Dimitri said, leading the woman over to them. The two women regarded each other kindly, Hershel tried to avoid eye contact but couldn’t look away. His mind raced back to the newspaper article. What had he missed? How had he not noticed? “And her friend.”

The woman approached him, holding out her hand, the way you would for a friendly stranger. She smiled, and Hershel tried to contain his sorrow. She spoke warmly, and nobody could tell the pain it caused him to hear her voice.

“Claire Foley” She said with a polite grin. “Lovely to meet you.”


	10. Finding the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn in advance that there'd be longer gaps between updates because uni is quite frankly kicking my ass HOWEVER I'm still gonna try to update when I can because I still have a lot written it's just not in the right order yet. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Nothing super detailed or bad but warning in advance for mentions of a Panic Attack)

How many days had he hoped for this?

How many times had he sat by a headstone, just wishing he’d said something sooner when he’d met Celeste? He always hated himself for not making it clear that he’d figured it out. He knew she didn’t have a sister, but he didn’t want to pressure her into revealing herself. She had her reasons.

But even so, they could’ve spent that time together, a doomed and stressful time, but time all the same.

All he wanted was a chance to spend time with her.

And here he was, in the building he hated, exact same scenario. He got anxious just standing there. And this time he knew it wasn’t a con. She wasn’t lying to protect herself.

Claire Foley was alive. And she didn’t know who he was. He couldn’t help but make the self deprecating conclusion between these two facts.

He watched as she withdrew her hand, too lost to say anything other than his name. She turned back to Angela, acting as if he was there for company.

“So Dimitri said something about Time travel?” Claire asked, eyes shining.  While she was talking Hershel finally got a look at her properly.

She was older, older than he’d ever seen her. It made sense, but it threw him. She didn’t wear her glasses, but she had a small rose tucked into her lapel. So similar, yet ever so slightly off. Slight wrinkles, a little loss of hair colour. There was always an odd imbalance when they’d met in the ‘future’. She hadn’t changed since the explosion, he was a completely different person. But this time they were the same, and there was no telling what she’d been through in that decade.

Would the two of them even still get on? He didn’t know how different she was.

He wasn’t in her life too long, at her core she was still the same Claire.

He didn’t know if that made him feel better.

“My husband was looking at time travel related to an artefact he found.” Angela explained, not entirely untrue. “I’m hoping you can point us in the direction of some more research”

“What specifically?” she asked, arms folded but listening intently.

“When one event creates a new timeline, and if people could move between them.” Claire pondered for a second.

“Interesting topic. I’m sure I can look through some old papers and find my colleague’s work. I’m sure we’ve had some similar studies, it’s quite a popular topic.” Hershel smiled as she spoke. It was nice to see her excited about science again, he’d missed that. When she made eye contact he felt nauseous. “Artefacts, hm? ”

She went to the filing cabinets and went through, pulling out stacks of paper. As Hershel waited for her to return, he could feel a sense of dread. He wasn’t sure what specifically had triggered it, but his brain felt like a lead weight.

“Ancient civilisations. He teaches Archaeology.”

“Brilliant, always had a soft spot for that subject, but I could never get into it myself.” she said as she thumbed through them “Too much outdoor work, I’m much more comfortable holed up in a lab.”

He wanted to say so much to her, but she wouldn’t understand. He had to just listen and wait, that scene from the alley replaying in his mind.

“When you say Time travel is popular?” He managed as she headed back to them with an armful of work.

“Just a lot of interest, especially from people outside the facilities.” She pulled one of the sheets off the pile, reading through it. “I think it’s because of the rise in Sci- Fi comics. Same reason I’m always being asked to design lasers for people.” She paused, then exclaimed “Here we are!” while placing the piece of paper down. “This was my friend’s work, we studied the physics behind a time machine and it had some…. Conclusive results.”

“How conclusive?”

“Very. We near enough proved it.”

“Do you think he’s right then?” Angela asked, involved in the story. She quickly corrected herself to cover it up. “My husband I mean. You think Time Travel is real?”

Claire got quiet for a moment. She looked behind her, where several scientists were deep in conversation. She walked slightly further away and dropped her voice.

“The institute doesn’t like me talking about this but, Yes. There was an… incident here.” Her gaze drifted as she spoke. Hershel didn’t want to hear about this, but he needed to know what was different. His heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the panic, he hadn’t discussed it in years. Claire pulled out the next sheet, blueprints. “Related to Time Travel.”

“I remember it being closed for a long time.” Angela said, looking over the blueprints.

“It was a big event. We built the machine” she placed her hand on the blueprints “and we were supposed to test run it in the morning. Me and Dimitri lived on the other side of town and we were running late. So our colleague Bill took it into his own hands.”

“The Explosion.” Hershel said bluntly, not taking in every detail. He knew Dimitri had been late for the test, and all he was hearing was that in his time, he and Claire living together was what made her get there on time. Claire nodded and looked round nervously once again.

“We obviously assumed the Test had gone wrong but-“ She tapped her fingers on the desk, laughing awkwardly. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this.”

“You don’t have to, if it’s confidential.” Angela confided. Hershel already knew how the story ended. He could feel his mind drifting away from the conversation.

_You got her killed._

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought.

_It’s not that simple._

“No, no it’s just.” Claire sighed “You’ll think I’m insane, it’s too strange.”

“We’ve seen stranger.” Hershel added, not making eye contact. Claire waited, making sure nobody was listening in.

“We though Bill had died in the blast, they found him dead.” She explained, speaking quietly. Hershel twisted his wrist to distract himself. “But a few years ago, right on the date of the incident, someone saw him. There was a report about his ghost, said they spoke to him.”

“What do you think happened?” Angela asked, intrigued. Hershel preoccupied his gaze by staring at the rising bubbles in a nearby beaker. He couldn’t say he felt a great deal of grief for Bill Hawks, but the story still made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know what it was, but his heart pounded even louder, he could feel his throat going dry.

“I think he travelled through time.” Claire said shuffling the papers. She looked at them confidently “As crazy as that sounds.”

Hershel could feel the panic rising in his chest. That nagging thought about what his presence cause was jabbing at his brain, he couldn’t focus on anything.

_Keep it together Hershel_

“It makes sense” Angela said. Hershel was silent. He placed his hand on the desk to brace himself, he could get through one conversation.

_Breathe_

“Since our timeline isn’t out of sync” Claire continued” I have to assume he travelled back to the moment before the blast. “ she trailed off, Hershel wasn’t sure if this universe was necessarily ‘in sync’. “I don’t think anyone can alter time, but I think it proved they can move through it in a non linear way.”

_Breathe. It could’ve been any change that meant she’s alive._

Claire looked at the clock on the wall and seemed to make note of the time. She took her gloves off, and Hershel felt light hearted as he spotted the ring round her finger. He wasn’t a jealous person but with how his mind was racing, that was the final nail.

“Excuse me one second, I think it’s getting too warm in here,” He offered as a vague excuse as he darted out of the room. He could feel the tightness in his chest.

He managed to make it all the way outside before it properly took hold of him. He sat with his back against the wall, luckily in an area with no people, as he tried to stop the panic building inside him.

 _Hershel you haven’t done this in years, is it really necessary?_ One side of his brain asked

 _Yes_ said the other side, irrational and unhelpful

For several minutes it was just him and his nerves, as his body fought to calm itself down. He’d had this happen a lot as a teenager, especially after Akbadain. Someone would mention the ruins and he’d feel the same, darting out of the classroom to hide in the boy’s toilets till it subsided. Nobody knew about that, Students and teachers just assumed he was skipping class.. Remembering that made him feel worse.

His heart continued pounding and his breaths were shaky, he tried to regain control, telling himself to stop. He hated that lab.

He’d managed to mostly get control after a few minutes. When he could finally focus on something other than his own emotions, he could see that it was starting to get dark around him. He exhaled and rubbed his face. He wanted to lie down and sleep.

“Hershel?” he heard a woman’s voice call out, Angela. Hershel forced himself to stand and rounded the corner to see her.

“I just needed some air.” He said as she approached.

“You’ve been gone for ages, I thought-“ Hershel looked at her, still breathing heavily.  He thought he was good at hiding it, but apparently not. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. This building has a lot of… memories attached.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing. Do you want to talk about it?” Hershel didn’t answer for a while, trying to decide if it was worth it He eventually spoke.

“With the incident they mentioned, Bill survived. Claire was the one who died.” Angela’s face fell.

“Were you friends with him?”

“No.” he responded quickly. “But me and Claire.” He took a shaky breath. “We were together.”

“As in?” Angela crossed her fingers together. Hershel nodded. She bit her lip. Hershel tried to give words to the pit in his stomach. “Oh Hershel I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“Seeing her again is wonderful. But I can’t help but feel guilty. “

“Why on earth would you feel guilty, you’ve already said things are different here.”

“I’m not in her life, and she survives.” Angela frowned.

“Don’t think of it like that, you sound like Randall.” Hershel mustered a meek laugh. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll keep telling myself that.”

“Do you want to speak with her?” Hershel thought about it, but he could envision how poorly that conversation would go.

“I don’t think it’s fair. She doesn’t know me.” He explained. He pulled his jacket further round himself, feeling how cold it was getting. At least the rain hadn’t started again. “I wish I could tell myself that this will be better when I get back but it can’t be. She’s gone in my time.” Angela stared at him solemnly before pulling him into a hug.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” There was quiet for a while, except for the students bustling past. Hershel could see the street where he’d comforted a crying boy all those years ago. He averted his gaze. Angela pulled away. “We can leave if you’d like, I can come back tomorrow.”

“I think that would be best.

* * *

 

They left the lab soon after, Angela carrying a large pile of scanned documents that Claire had given her. She’d told them that Hershel wasn’t feeling well, and promised to be back in the morning to discuss further. She’d also managed to pick up a water for him, and insisted she drive.

If Hershel couldn’t see her making a good mother before, he could now.

The drink seemed to calm his nerves slightly, and he’d managed to compose himself by the time they’d arrived. As they pulled into the street, Angela stopped the car abruptly. Hershel manage to catch himself, though the drink went all over his shirt.

“Did you-“ he looked at Angela, who pointed towards her front door. Three figures stood there, two men and a woman. All in Navy Uniforms. The shorter of the men was attempting to pry the window open while the woman appeared to be using some kind of walkie talkie.

“Shit.” Angela mutter, reversing the car slightly. Hershel was too distracted to make a comment. “Do you think we could scare them off?” she asked nervously “I have an umbrella in the back, it’s not particularly threatening but..” Hershel watched the people again. From the looks of the uniforms, he knew what they were searching for.

“I don’t think those are ordinary burglars. Is there a payphone on the way to Gressenheller?” He asked.

“I think so, is it better if we head there?” she said, eyeing the door again. “I feel like you know something I don’t.”

“They won’t steal anything, they’re looking for something specific.” Angela seemed unsure, but speared to trust his judgement. The woman in the uniform briefly turned towards them but didn’t seem bother and the car pulled away. “I’ll call the police, but we need to catch up to Randall before that group realises where the artefact is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always headcanoned Hershel to have some kind of anxiety because what is fanfiction if not self projection. 
> 
> Fun fact: I gave myself a rule of 'if i resurrect a major character i need to kill off someone similar to keep it balanced. I felt bad swapping Aurora for Arianna. Absolutely NO REGRETS about Claire and Bill.


End file.
